


The Breaking of Hermione Granger

by akorah



Series: We Were Broken [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akorah/pseuds/akorah
Summary: Sequel to THE BREAKING OF DRACO MALFOY.In the summer after 8th year, Hermione Granger heads to Australia to search for her parents, who have gone missing since the end of the war. When the search leads her to a Muggle bakery in southern France, she finds herself partnered with an unlikely ally: fugitive former Death Eater Draco Malfoy, who is, for some reason, baking apple pies the Muggle way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, and here we are again to begin the next step in Hermione & Draco's journeys. If you have not already read it, I strongly recommend reading the first story in this trilogy, THE BREAKING OF DRACO MALFOY, which explains how exactly we got from the end of the war to Draco living among Muggles and Hermione believing she might travel to Australia only to learn of her parents' deaths.
> 
> For those hopeless romantics who saw Draco & Hermione on the last story and have waited patiently for their OTP to come to pass, this installation is for you.
> 
> Unlike the last story, this one is only partially written, so it's going to take just a bit longer to post. As always, positive and constructive reviews feed the Muse.
> 
> Disclaimer #1: JK Rowling, Scholastic/Bloomsbury, & Warner Brothers own the characters, recognizable spells, etc. I own everything else except where denoted.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: I speak four words of French: bonjour, merci, oui, and pomme. I've attempted to research the French used here, but chances are it's abysmal and I apologize for that.
> 
> All of that said, without further ado I present THE BREAKING OF HERMIONE GRANGER.

**Hermione**

* * *

In the end, it took intervention by the headmistress to pry Hermione Granger away from the Hogwarts library before the Hogwarts Express left for London. As Hermione stood near the tables where she spent seven years pouring over some light reading, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Miss Granger, you have to leave," the headmistress said, not unkindly.

Hermione spun to face the fearsome and elegant witch, with her arms held across her torso. "I don't want to." She looked up at the cavernous ceiling and closed her eyes, as if she could breathe in whatever it was she needed. Knowledge wasn't what she sought anymore, but certainty. The moment she stepped onto Platform 9 ¾, her world and her future in it would be precarious at best; calamitous at worst. Here, in the heart of the Hogwarts library, things were neat and organized and mostly predictable.

By the end of the day, nothing in her life would be predictable anymore.

"Miss Granger, many students have walked through these halls and ended their tenancy exactly where you're standing. Hogwarts is home for all of us. When you leave here, you will establish a new home for yourself and this place will become a fond memory." Professor McGonagall peered at Hermione over her spectacles. "However, between you and I, if you never feel quite settled anywhere else, Hogwarts would be honoured to have you back."

A storm of emotions whirled through Hermione as she was overwhelmed at the implication she could find employment here if all else failed. Not that she anticipated failing in her professional pursuits, but she hadn't looked much past the challenge of finding her parents for months. To know that something solid waited for her on the other side was a comfort she hadn't known she needed.

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione dropped her arms to her side and awkwardly twisted one foot behind the other. "May I...?"

Professor McGonagall nodded with a small smile and Hermione crossed to give the woman a hug that expressed all the gratitude she felt for the many little and big ways Professor McGonagall had helped her through the last eight years. When she pulled back, she saw the hint of tears pooling at the edges of her mentor's eyes.

"Good luck, Hermione," Professor McGonagall whispered.

With that final goodbye, Hermione ducked out of the library and met her friends on the steps of the school where they waited to catch a carriage.

Ginny Weasley flipped long red hair behind her shoulders with a knowing smirk and tugged down one sleeve of her Muggle t-shirt. "I told you McGonagall would have to exorcise her from the library," the woman said to the gathered cluster of Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Daphne Greengrass.

"How did you know it was McGonagall in the library?" Hermione asked with a faint grin.

Justin tapped his cane on the flagstones as a smile flashed across his battle-scarred face. The left side of his smile could only reach so far before what remained of his left cheek was nothing but scar tissue. "Wait, I know this. McGonagall, in the library, with the candlestick."

The four pure-bloods looked puzzled as Hermione shook her head in amusement. "I don't have a _clue_ what you're talking about," she retorted.

"Is this a Muggle-born thing?" Hannah asked. Her blonde ponytail whipped behind her head and she looked between Justin and Hermione.

"It's a Muggle game." Justin playfully bumped Daphne with his shoulder. The brunette, whose war scars were hidden beneath immaculate forest green robes, evaluated her boyfriend with a raised eyebrow. "Now that we're out of school, I think we should take the time to give these folks a proper Muggle education. What say you, Hermione?"

High from her brief conversation with the headmistress, Hermione nodded. "Yes. Once I get back from holiday, we should set something up."

The other five agreed with varying levels of enthusiasm. They set off for the carriages, keeping a slow pace on account of Justin's lamed left leg, which he earned from a curse during the Battle of Hogwarts alongside his other scars. Of the six friends crossing the grounds of Hogwarts for the final time, Justin's scars were the most numerous and the most visible, and he wasn't even supposed to be in the fight.

Hermione glanced over at Justin and Daphne several times, marvelling at the changes their eighth year had wrought. A Hufflepuff/Slytherin union was nearly unheard of, but a Muggle-born Hufflepuff/pure-blood Slytherin pairing was grounds for family disownment—just ask Andromeda Tonks.

The pair had been defying stereotypes and prejudices since October, but while Hogwarts' student body eventually accepted them, their challenges were just beginning. From the few comments Daphne had made about her post-Hogwarts life, Hermione knew her parents expected her to marry another pure-blood. Hermione hoped against hope that the Greengrasses would eventually accept Justin into their lives, but the odds were realistically small. Blood prejudice still existed in the wizarding world. Justin and Daphne would be up against an entire culture soon enough.

But for now, they could all pretend that bigotry was a myth and Muggle game nights would bridge the gap between their worlds. Hermione allowed herself to dream alongside her friends for as long as it took to traverse the train tracks from Hogsmeade to London. For the first time since finding out her parents had inexplicably left Perth nine months ago, she allowed herself to imagine the future.

An implicit offer to work at Hogwarts and Muggle game nights; two things Hermione didn't know she needed, but nevertheless anchored her to the future she couldn't see. As she watched the countryside race outside the window of the Hogwarts Express, she idly wondered if that would be the theme of the next stage of her life.

* * *

Harry held out a velvet pouch with a certain fierceness. The determination on his face was reminiscent of his trial with the Hungarian Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione would have found it entertaining if she wasn't so peeved. "Hermione, take the money."

"Absolutely not. I can fend for myself."

The black-haired man stared her down with one of the new dictatorial stares he learned in Auror training. "This isn't Horcrux hunting. You aren't going to make camp at some forest, partly because the closest forest is like a million miles from Perth. Plus, everything in Australia is determined to kill you, and the wizarding world needs you alive. You'll need food and lodging for who knows how long, and I know you won't use your award money from your Order of Merlin because you'll want to keep it as a nest egg for the next eight hundred years." When Hermione kept her arms folded and lips pursed, Harry Summoned her endless beaded bag. Amid her screeching protests, he shoved the pouch into the bag. "If I didn't allow the twins to turn down my Triwizard winnings, I'm not going to let you turn down a few pounds meant for your own well-being."

Hermione snatched her bag from Harry's hands and began rooting through it for the pouch. "A thousand pounds is more than a 'few', Harry James." She pulled out the red velvet pouch and removed bundles of banknotes. "I don't need the money and you've already done more than I should have ever asked you to. I can't accept this."

"It's rude to turn down a gift."

She ignored Harry's protests and counted out the notes she'd laid on the newly varnished kitchen table of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. "I will take half of it. Okay?" Hermione added another bundle. Convinced she'd removed exactly five hundred pounds, she sighed and put the remaining money into her beaded bag.

Harry rolled his bright green eyes and transferred the rejected cash to his own extended purse, a slightly-illegal gift from Hermione the previous Christmas (Harry-the-Auror chided her for unauthorized use of the Undetectable Extension charm; Harry-the-best-friend found it hilarious that the war turned him into the rule-follower and Hermione into the rule-breaker). "How are you getting to Perth?"

Hermione secured the beaded bag under her long t-shirt. "I have a Portkey to Sydney tomorrow afternoon. I'll likely take a bus from there." She gave Harry her best 'I've-got-this' stare to signal the end of the conversation. "Are you ready to go to the Burrow?"

Her exasperated best friend gestured to the hall. "After you."

They Apparated to the Burrow for a celebratory/goodbye dinner. Ginny had completed her first Chaser audition with the Holyhead Harpies and been called back for a second tryout involving the Chasers already on the team. After she and Harry congratulated the youngest Weasley, Hermione turned her attention to the rest of the guests.

"Daphne!" Hermione said in surprise, hugging the willowy brunette. "I didn't know you were coming."

Daphne gave a controlled smile that softened her blue eyes. She rarely showed more emotion than the minimum required to communicate her thoughts. Hermione found her friend's careful expressiveness endearing and admirable. "We wanted to see you off before you went on holiday, and Ginny threatened to hex us if we didn't congratulate her on the audition."

"Justin's here?"

"And Astoria and Neville. Hannah had to work."

Familiar warmth filled Hermione's chest. She was beginning to suspect she would never get over the excitement she felt at all four Hogwarts houses getting along. Daphne's younger sister Astoria was a soon-to-be seventh year Ravenclaw who was as kind and clever as anyone could hope for. She also had an affinity for cats and offered to watch Crookshanks while Hermione was 'on holiday'. Crookshanks was far more amenable to the idea of Greengrass Manor over living at Grimmauld Place with Harry.

The two young women headed into the Weasleys' drawing room, where Justin and George Weasley were trading Hogwarts stories to the obvious entertainment of the youngest Greengrass. Neville pinked as George told the story of the first time Neville unwittingly ate a Canary Cream and moulted all over the Gryffindor common room.

"Our common room was quite a dangerous place whenever the Weasley twins were present," Hermione summed up. George beamed as Hermione rolled her eyes. "I seem to remember banning you from testing the Skiving Snackboxes on first years, which led to you and Fred perfecting the art of projectile vomiting."

"Too right you are, Minnie," George said with a wink.

Hermione let out an exasperated hiss. "I told Fred not to—does anyone have a Basilisk handy? I have a ghost I need to Petrify." Since learning Fred Weasley was a ghost at Hogwarts, Hermione and the deceased twin had struck up a tenuous friendship. She'd given him explicit instructions not to let anyone else call her 'Minnie' after he started calling her by the nickname in February.

Justin blanched at the joke and Daphne gave Hermione a warning look. That was another of the Slytherin's admirable qualities: she was quick to berate anyone who made light of another person's pain. Hermione cringed as she remembered that Justin had been Petrified during their second year after viewing the Basilisk through Nearly-Headless Nick.

"Sorry," she said.

With an absent wave of his cane, he shrugged off the memory. "Better to joke about it. I mean, if I can joke about this—" he gestured to his cursed leg, "—what's an altercation with a little snake?"

Neville and George snorted. "'Little snake'," George mused. He turned a serious stare to Hermione. "Jokes aside, you take my twin from me again and we'll both haunt you."

The reunion of the twins had been painful for the first few weeks. George spent the better part of a fortnight buried in bottles of top-shelf Firewhisky and flasks of some alcoholic potion he'd created with his elder brother, Charlie. An intervention by none other than Professor McGonagall and Molly Weasley had set the man straight. The twins were four weeks into reconciling with their new reality and George looked better than he had in a year.

Hermione held up her hands. "I promise not to make any more jokes for the rest of the night."

"Excellent," George said. "Your sense of humour is rubbish. Toffee?"

* * *

Ginny sat on the edge of Hermione's makeshift bed at the Burrow. The sun was coming in through the window at an angle that made the youngest Weasley squint as she faced Hermione. "Today?"

"Today," Hermione confirmed, running through a mental checklist. She had packed a satchel to make it appear she was going on holiday. Harry's cash and her own Galleons remained in her beaded bag.

"You know if it wasn't for this thing with the Harpies, I would be coming with you."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Hermione peered around the room for anything she might have forgotten to pack. "Stubborn."

"I consider myself endearingly obstinate." Ginny pulled up the leg of her Muggle jeans to investigate the light scar from where Hermione had set her on fire a couple of months ago. As she traced her fingers over the pale skin, she shrugged. "You're going to send me status reports once a week. I had enough radio silence from you during the war."

"I'll mail you a postcard."

Ginny frowned. "What's a postcard?"

"Muggle thing. I'll ring you every Friday, how about?"

Ginny scrunched her nose. "On the telephone? Just owl me like a normal person."

"I'm not sending you an owl from Australia. The poor thing would collapse over the Indian Ocean." Hermione tucked her beaded bag into her larger book bag and sighed. "I think I'm ready." She twisted her hands and stared at a spot on a wall behind Ginny's bed.

"You'll find them, Hermione."

"But what if I don't? What if something happened? What if something happened to the Memory Charm and it drove them insane? What if Death Eaters found them and just never boasted about it? What if they got in a car crash or a plane crash or drowned at the Great Barrier Reef?"

"Either calm down or I'm going to force a Calming Draught down your throat."

"You don't have a Calming Draught," Hermione responded, still thinking of the hundreds of possible reasons her parents might have disappeared.

"No, but I can put you in a Body Bind. Your wandless magic won't do you much good then."

Hermione's breath caught. "Don't you dare."

"Then sit down and think about something else. What's the first thing you're going to do when you return their memories?"

"Cry," Hermione said honestly. "I don't know after that."

"Have you figured out what you're going to tell them about the war?"

The soft cotton of the baby pink quilt on her bed felt foreign under Hermione's fingers. She drew circles into the fabric. "I've thought about it, but nothing seems right. I have to tell them something, of course, otherwise they'll be angry with me for modifying their memories, but I don't know what. I'll tell them I had to protect them and that we won. I don't know if I'll say anything else. I'm not going to say anything about getting tortured or hunting Horcruxes. There are things they don't need to know."

"Are you going to tell them you dated three of the Weasley brothers in the span of a year?"

Hermione fought back a smirk and found a pillow to throw at Ginny. "I didn't date any of them except in your twisted version of reality."

Ginny blocked the assault and laughed. "Technically, you did go on a date with Percy—he's still confused as to why you stopped talking to him, by the way—, you were all touchy-feely with Ron for months, and then the whole Fred thing was just—"

"Friends. Fred and I are friends. Ron and I are friends. Percy and I are...I don't want to talk about it."

Ginny's eyes went wide and she leaned forward. "So something did happen with Percy. Do I need to hex him? Is there anything you can tell me or will I need to Obliviate myself afterward?"

"Nothing happened!" Hermione insisted. "It's just—Fred said—"

"So Fred's involved with this?"

"No? Yes? I just—." Hermione burned red, completely flustered. "Fred made a comment that it was interesting that Percy wanted to start dating after I was awarded the Order of Merlin, and it got me thinking—"

"That Percy's an opportunistic git who would see your status as a way to open doors for himself?" Hermione fell silent at the harsh, though accurate, assessment. Ginny nodded. "Well, you're right. That's exactly the kind of person he is. Didn't you see the way Mum always reacted seeing the two of you together?" Hermione gave a non-committal shrug. "She raised him. She knows what he's like. At the first sign of real trouble, she would have warned you off him."

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip with a frown. "I'm not sure what to think of that."

"Well, you don't need to think about it right now. Focus on finding your parents and worry about which of my brothers to date next later. You still have Charlie and George left to try out."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gently backhanded Ginny. "Thanks." She glanced at her wristwatch and sighed. "I think I'm going to head for the Ministry."

"Perfect." Ginny jumped to her feet. "I've been wanting to bother Harry at work and now I'll have an excuse."

"How am I your excuse, exactly?"

"Don't overthink it, Minnie."

Hermione groaned. "I'm going to find a way to strangle Fred."

"You can research how on your _forty-five hour_ bus ride from Sydney to Perth. You should let Harry book you a Portkey-"

"I can figure this out without asking Harry for more favours."

Ginny folded her arms and stared down her friend. "It's Harry. It's not a favour when it comes from him. He wants to help you."

"And I need to do this myself." Hermione cast a Weightlessness Charm on her satchel and tossed it over her shoulder. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

Hermione rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. "I have to be."


	2. Chapter 2

**Draco**

* * *

In a bakery in a small town south of Bordeaux, France, the scent of apple pie danced with vanilla and something tangy that hinted at the impending summer months. A tall, thin man with long flat-ironed brown hair framing his face awkwardly exchanged pastries for coloured banknotes that he had never seen until a year ago. In fact, it had been a year and two weeks since Draco Malfoy first saw Muggle money, and he was only slightly more comfortable with it now than he was back then.

The chime above the door didn't cause him to jump anymore or drop his wand defensively into his right hand. As the bakery's demand grew, the bell became white noise that barely cut through the din of residents and vacationers crowding the seven small tables or waiting in line.

Draco's boss, Wendell Wilkins, was currently in the back of the bakery reviewing a catalogue of espresso machines. After nine months in business, he and his wife, Monica, had decided it was time to upgrade from standard coffee, tea and juices to something more elaborate. In fact, they were starting to consider turning the bakery into a café now that Draco had agreed to work full-time. Draco, who had gotten the hang of using the register about two weeks earlier, was vehemently against the idea and told Monica in no uncertain terms that the espresso machine looked like a torture device for wizards. Monica, a Muggle, chuckled and said she would make him set it up if he kept complaining.

As the crowd faded away near the end of the lunch hour, Draco looked casually toward the door to see an elegant dark-skinned Italian man stride into the store. The man's brown eyes danced with disbelieving humour as he approached the counter.

"Draco Malfoy is working in a Muggle bakery. And brunet," Blaise Zabini said with a wry twist to his mouth. "I never thought I'd see the day when you made an honest living, much less one in the Muggle world. A bakery, really? You're rich enough to buy this entire town and you chose to work in a bakery."

Draco levelled a half-hearted glare at his former classmate and current landlord, whom he hadn't seen since the end of August, nine and a half months ago. "First, you'll note my nametag says 'Argyros' and you'll do well to call me that. Second, I happen to like it here. And I'm good at it. It's like Potions, but with food."

The dark smile twisted to reveal brilliant white teeth. "Fine,  _Argyros_. I'll play along. Your contingency plan to disappear into the Muggle world seems to be going well, so why are you still living in my house?"

"I happen to like it there, and your mother is perfectly content in Germany or Lichtenstein or wherever her current marriage has taken her."

"What about me?"

"Theo and I haven't touched your bedroom." Draco smirked. "You're welcome to move back in."

"I'll be moving to the property in wizarding Kensington at the end of the month. I'm staying with the Parkinsons until then."

"So you deigned to grace us with your presence to tell us you wouldn't be moving here?"

Zabini folded his arms and his face became serious. "I deigned to grace you with my presence to let you know that Pansy, Daphne, and I are being watched by the Ministry. They think we know where you are."

Fear and anger raced through Draco's veins. "Then why the  _hell_  are you here?" he growled. "If you're being traced, they will follow you and Theo and I will have to run. And I do not want to run."

"Why? Because it looks bad on your CV to have work experience of less than a year?"

"I have no idea what that means. I like it here. I like my life here. I do not want to start over somewhere new, so why the hell are you here?"

"God, Malfoy— _Argyros-._ Trust me for five minutes. If I wanted to turn you in, I would have done it months ago. As it happens, the Aurors believe I'm currently at Pansy's. I know how to stay inconspicuous." Zabini ran his hands over the glass display case of pastries, half of which Draco himself had baked.

"Keep your fingers off the glass. I already had to clean it when a bunch of kids came in and the glass cleaner smells weird."

" _Glass cleaner_ ," Zabini echoed. "I know a half-dozen spells that can take fingerprints off glass, and you're using Muggle glass cleaner?"

"Can't exactly pull out my wand now, can I?"

A middle-aged man with frizzed brown hair walked from the back with a curious expression. "Is that English, I hear?" Wendell asked, with the espresso machine catalogue hanging at his side.

Draco gestured from Wendell to Zabini. "This is one of my classmates. Zabini, meet my boss, Wendell Wilkins." Zabini nodded hello and looked disturbed when the Muggle held out his hand for a shake.

"How did your N.E.W.T.s go?" Wendell asked conversationally.

Now Zabini looked thoroughly nonplussed. "N.E.W.T.s?" He looked at Draco with wide eyes. "This man knows about  _N.E.W.T.s_?"

"Er..." Draco shook his head at Wendell as if to say  _not now_.

The Muggle understood. "Ah. Well, it's nice to meet a friend of Argyros's. We'll have you over for dinner sometime." Wendell examined the wall behind Draco, obviously visualizing where he might install the espresso machine. Draco let out an involuntary groan and Wendell chuckled. "I know Monica already told you that the more you fight it, the more likely it's going to happen."

"Are you going to buy it just to spite me?"

"No. I want to put that mechanical mind of yours to work. You've got a good head for figuring out how things go together. I think working with Muggle technology will be good for you."

After Wendell disappeared into the back, Zabini's voice got dangerously low. "N.E.W.T.s?  _Muggle_ technology? Malfoy, how much does this man know?"

"Enough to keep me and Theo safe." In truth, Wendell and Monica Wilkins knew far more than that, considering a month and a half ago, Draco learned that they were under a Memory Charm that prevented them from remembering their Muggle-born daughter, Hermione Granger. From there, Draco confessed his role in the wizarding war, and the fact that he and Granger were childhood nemeses. Monica had accepted Draco's confession much easier than her husband. Wendell had never been bothered by Draco's status as a war criminal until he learned his daughter had fought for the other side in that same war. A month and several hard conversations later, Draco and Wendell had a cordial relationship that distinctly lacked any real trust.

"Do they know where you live?"

"No."

"Do they know who you are?"

Draco hesitated. "Yes."

Zabini swore. "This whole scheme was about keeping you and Theo safe, and you're entrusting your lives to Muggles?"

"Zabini, trust me for five minutes," Draco said, echoing the earlier argument. "Wendell and Monica aren't going to hurt me and Theo. They aren't going to turn us in. They wouldn't even know where to start if they wanted to, which they don't."

"You are risking my best friend's life—"

"I have spent every day of the last year with Theo. He's my best friend, too, and I would not risk his life any more than I would risk my own. He knows about the Wilkinses and he chose to stay here, too."

"I'm half-tempted to kick your stupid arse out of my house, but I won't for Theo's sake. Where does he work? Maybe I can go talk sense into him since you've clearly gone 'round the twist."

"The bookstore's a few shops down. There's something like eight stacks of books out front. If you miss it, you're a badger." Draco grinned at his own joke for a reason Zabini wouldn't comprehend. Theodore Nott had, in fact, banned the usage of the names of any Hogwarts Houses within the Zabini residence and Draco retaliated by banning them from the bakery. Saying Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or Hufflepuff led to face-planting on the floor. He used the House mascots when he felt a reference was truly necessary. Draco was still waiting for Theo to fall victim to his own jinx.

Zabini raised an unamused eyebrow and turned toward the door. "This conversation isn't over,  _Argyros_."

"Does that mean I can expect you home for dinner?" Draco mocked. He bit his tongue between his molars in a sardonic grin. "I'll need to hunt another quail if that's the case."

The elegant man slowly turned around and tucked his hands into the pockets of his pressed black slacks. "What the hell happened to you, Malfoy? Did someone Obliviate you and give you a new personality?"

Draco shrugged. "Things change."

"You're a  _Malfoy_."

The smile dropped from Draco's face as he met Zabini's eyes. "And if you'll notice, the rest of the Malfoys are incarcerated in one way or another."

"Therefore you received a personality transplant?"

The tiny bell above the door chimed and a pair of teenage girls walked toward the counter. "I have customers to attend. And the person you're looking for at the bookstore is Chrys Granger."

Both of Zabini's eyebrows shot up. " _Granger?_ "

"Yes. I assume you'll be able to remember that." Draco turned his attention to the girls, who were debating between muffins or sliced bread. " _Bonjour. Qu'est-ce quil vous faut?_ "  _What do you need?_

" _Vous jouez avec le feu,_  Argyros," Zabini growled before he left the store.  _You're playing with fire, Argyros._ The bell sounded annoyed as it signalled Zabini's departure.

The girls, a curly-haired blonde with wide brown eyes and someone who may have been her blue-eyed cousin, giggled as they ordered their food. As Draco made change, he felt them staring at the left side of his face. He shook his hair to cover the scars before he handed the girls their purchases. The glances and half-disguised stares were a significant factor in why Draco preferred baking to working the register, but Monica had been sick for nearly a week and they needed the coverage.

" _Qu'est-il arrivé à votre visage?_ " the blue-eyed teen asked.  _What happened to your face?_

"Maia!  _C'était dur!_ " her cousin reprimanded.  _That was rude!_

The blonde flicked her hair behind her shoulders and grabbed the upper arm of her insensitive companion. " _Je m'excuse pour mon cousin_."  _I apologize for my cousin._

Draco forced a smile he was sure looked more like a grimace. " _C'est bon._ "  _It's ok._

The girls tilted their heads together and he heard another giggle erupt from the blue-eyed one. She turned back to face him with a brilliant smile. " _Ils vous rendent beau_ ," she said and blushed before both girls ran out of the store.

_They make you handsome._

Draco fell back against the wall, slightly dazed from the interaction. Unconsciously, he raised his fingers to trace the scars left by one of the darkest days of his life.  _They make you handsome_.

He shook his head as he remembered his father's shaking hands applying the potion that would swell the lacerations closed. He remembered the day he realized the swelling would never recede and he would be cursed with the distended scars for the rest of his life. It was eight months before he looked in the mirror again.

_They make you handsome_.

_No,_  he thought.  _They make me damned._

"Wendell," he called, stepping into the back. The baker looked up from where he was trimming the edge of a pie crust. "May I go upstairs for a few minutes?"

Wendell nodded with a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Draco lied. "I just need a minute."

He passed through the kitchen and ran up the stairs to the Wilkinses' over-store flat. The home was tiny compared to anywhere else Draco had visited. It had a small kitchen, dining room, sitting room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom with an adjoining laundry. The entire residence could fit in Draco and Theo's bedrooms at the Zabinis' cottage with room to spare.

Over the last month, Draco and Theo had installed two towering bookshelves in the sitting room that the Wilkinses promptly double-stacked with their massive literature collection. Theo's recently acquired job at the bookstore didn't help matters, as he brought at least five new finds to their standing dinners each Saturday night. The unused second bedroom resembled a four-foot high labyrinth, with one special stack to the right of the door. Hidden just out of sight were Draco's preferred reading materials, which largely consisted of potions theory, advanced transfiguration techniques, and history.

When Draco opened the door to the flat, he looked to the couch to see Monica reading a book from his personal collection. She looked up at the intruder and gave him a tired smile.

"Dragons, hmm?" she asked, holding up the book,  _A Study of European Wizard and Muggle Alliances During Twentieth Century Wars_.

An easy smile that would have felt foreign even six months ago slipped across Draco's face. "And the Muggles never had a clue. Have you read much into World War II yet?" Monica shook her head. "You might find the bit on the use of nifflers smuggled into Eva Braun's summer residence entertaining. It certainly provided humour that was otherwise missing in a dark war."

Monica set the book to the side and traced her finger over the cover. "Your people have an affinity for very descriptive titles. They all sound like doctoral dissertations." She contemplated Draco with a muted glimmer in her eyes. "You should consider going to university. The necessary transcripts would be easy enough to forge."

"I'll think about it," Draco said in a tone that implied he would  _not_  be considering any such thing. Monica rolled her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

She sighed and sat up straight. "It's getting worse."

"I told you it might. What do you remember?"

Monica closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with red-painted nails trimmed with gold tips.  _Gryffindor_. "Crying. A lot of crying."

"Do you see her?"

Her brown eyes fluttered open and she dropped her hand. "Sometimes? I see shadows, like there's a light hidden in a room. I think some of the shadows are her." Monica gave him a pleading look. "Can you make sense of it?"

Draco hesitated. Since learning the Wilkinses were under a Memory Charm, Draco had visited Monica's mind twice. Both times, she had a surge of visions over the following twenty-four hours before the memories tucked themselves back behind the barrier of the charm. He wasn't convinced that looking into her mind wasn't doing more harm than good. He would rather wait for their plan to remove the Memory Charm to come to fruition than risk damaging her.

"Please, Draco."

Against his better judgment, Draco levitated the coffee table out of the way and sat on the floor in front of Monica. "This is going to be the last time I do this until Hermione finds you. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Why don't I believe you?" he said with a wry smile. Monica pursed her lips, trying and failing to look abashed. He shook his head and took her hands. "Ready?"

Entering Monica's mind was addictive. It felt odd to see himself in someone else's memories, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit not to search himself out in her mind just for the chance to view himself through someone else's eyes.

He found the thinnest expanse of the fog hiding Monica's memories. It was more delicate than ever, so he could almost make out the entire scene without having to pass into the barrier. She was right about there being a room cast in shadow, and he could hear the echo of crying. Just his proximity to the memory was enough to disturb him; he couldn't fathom how Monica was managing to function with her memories constantly teasing her consciousness.

Carefully, he moved through the fog and saw the memory in full. It was nighttime and a small light near the bottom of the far wall created the present shadows. A bed sat across from the open door, with someone sobbing and curled into a ball atop the mattress. Her bedclothes had been thrown to the ground; it appeared the sheet had caught on something on the way down as a handful of pencils rolled across the floor of the otherwise immaculate room.

_"Shh,"_  he heard, and turned to see Monica enter the room.  _"Shh. Hermione, you're okay. Hermione. Hermione, you're okay."_

Draco's breath caught as he recognized the cadence. He watched in a daze as Monica moved to sit on Granger's bed. Her arms encircled her sobbing, gasping daughter and held the girl until the panic attack subsided. Monica pressed her cheek against her daughter's bushy head and gave the girl a final squeeze before sitting back and undoing Granger's braid. As her hands moved through Granger's hair, the girl's posture relaxed.

_"What happened?"_  memory-Monica asked.

Granger closed her eyes. Draco recognized the look on her face from when she was particularly frustrated with Potter and Weasley. Here, however, it seemed the frustration was focused at herself.  _"I couldn't move and...I thought it happened again."_ Her voice was tiny and disarming, nearly unrecognizable without her obdurate self-righteousness.

Monica hummed and combed her fingers through Granger's hair, recreating the braid. The movement soothed Granger and her frustration slowly disappeared.  _"Was it that spell again?"_

_"Yes,"_  Granger whimpered. Draco could tell she was lying.  _"I just—I couldn't move. I can't be paralyzed again, Mum."_

Tears began to roll down Granger's face again and Monica stopped braiding to wrap her right arm around her daughter's shoulders.  _"It's okay. You're okay. It was just a mistake. See?"_ Monica tied off Granger's hair halfway down and used both hands to tickle her daughter's neck. Granger squealed and batted her mother away.  _"You can move just fine. And if anyone else tries to paralyze you again, you make sure you can get him first, okay?"_

Granger nodded and folded her arms around her stomach.  _"Can you finish braiding my hair, Mum? I think I'll be able to sleep soon."_

Draco closed his eyes and pulled out of the memory. As he extricated himself from Monica's mind, he tried to make sense of his own whirring thoughts.

"What did you see?" Monica asked.

He pressed his mouth into a pensive line. "You're remembering one of Hermione's panic attacks."

"Hermione gets panic attacks? Did you see why?"

_Yes_ , he wanted to say, but realized that Granger never told her parents the truth about their second year. 'Paralyzed,' she called it. 'Petrified' was its real name.

"It sounded like a spell went awry at school that caused her to be paralyzed for a little while. When she stays still too long, she thinks it's happened again," he said, trying to keep the explanation close to Granger's narrative in the memory.

The tension went out of Monica's shoulders. "Oh." She gave Draco a grateful smile. "So, she's okay? Do you think she still has them? Could you tell how old she was?"

"Thirteen," he answered automatically. His eyes widened and he looked forcefully at the fabric of the couch. "I—she—it happened during our second year of school," he explained without meeting Monica's eyes.

"You remember it?"

"She—er—she missed a couple of classes."  _Just a couple, like a month's worth,_  his remarkably unhelpful mind supplied.  _It was nothing, really. My father gave a cursed diary to an eleven-year-old who used it to release a grotesquely mutated strand of Medusa's hair into the school. But never fear; your thirteen-year-old was smart enough to look around corners with a mirror, so she only got Petrified instead of dead._

Somehow, Draco figured that story wouldn't endear him to the Wilkinses, even if they already knew that he'd watched their daughter be tortured— _in his own house_ —two years ago. His family's repeated attempts on Granger's life, however inadvertent, was a subject he preferred to avoid. Forever.

"Do you think she'll come soon?"

His shoulders tensed as nodded. "The classmate who owns my house came into the store earlier. The school year is finished. If I know Granger, she'll take a week to decompress from the exams and then she'll start looking for you. Have you gotten in touch with your friends in Perth?"

"Dru has promised she'll only tell Hermione anything if she's alone."

Draco nodded. "Good. If Potter or Weasley are with her, I can't—"

Monica reached out and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "We know. I hope it doesn't come to that."

Their risky plan centred entirely on Granger's innate arrogance. The haughty war heroine was often the first to offer assistance and the last to take it. Through six years of joint Potions lessons, Draco learned Granger never allowed anyone to help her unless a situation was completely hopeless. She always insisted she had everything well in hand until it was too late to fix her errors. Crucially, she rarely made errors she couldn't correct alone. Draco had cursed her talent during their formative years, but now her self-confidence could be his ticket out of Azkaban.

If— _if_ —Granger chose to leave her shadows in Britain and search out her parents alone, Draco planned to make an offer she couldn't refuse. Not if she wanted her parents back, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this today as a birthday present from me to you in a rather Hobbitsy fashion. Who knows, maybe there will be a Draco chapter in it for you today, too.

 

**Hermione**

* * *

The winter sun in Stratton, Western Australia was a bit too bright for Hermione's taste.

After two days on a Muggle bus and two additional days of slightly illegal research involving a Confundus and property ownership records, Hermione stood in front of a single storey home with a red-brick façade and bricked driveway in the suburb twenty-five kilometres from the Perth central business district. It was an unreasonable distance to live from a family-owned business, but Hermione had a feeling there was a reason. No. She  _knew_  there was reason. After all, she'd only manipulated eighteen years' worth of memories and implanted new identities. Somewhere in her parents' minds, they must have remembered that the name 'Stratton' had significance. It was, after all, her mother's maiden name.

Hermione fingered a folded parchment in her jeans pocket as she stalled on the pavement. Looking at it would do no good, but the temptation to take out the Tracking Parchment, a Weasley Wizard Wheezes product the twins had developed with Remus Lupin, was overwhelming. The parchment wouldn't show her the layout of any home into which she hadn't been invited, and only tracked persons with magical signatures. To keep her mind from becoming idle with worry, Hermione spent part of her bus ride brainstorming modifications that could track Muggles. Perhaps if she knew the name of the person she was about to meet, it would be less scary.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. Knowing the Muggle's name wouldn't make this visit easier. It wasn't going to get easier until she faced her fears and learned for certain what happened to her parents. Adjusting the strap of her satchel against her shoulder, Hermione strode up to the front door with more confidence than she felt. Biting back hesitation and fear, she rang the doorbell. A scuffle could be heard inside the door, followed by the insistent mewling of a cat. Or multiple cats, Hermione wasn't sure.

The door opened a few inches and Hermione saw bright green eyes surrounded by tawny fur near the bottom of the door. A foot appeared in front of the cat's face and pushed it back. "Back! Simba, I will lock you in the toilet."

The cat must have taken the threat seriously because it disappeared from view and the door opened fully. A waif of a woman several inches shorter than Hermione with black hair that curled around her jaw stood in the entry. A patterned shawl covered her shoulders as she looked cold. Hermione picked at her own thin t-shirt, wondering how on earth this woman was chilly when it was seventeen degrees outside. This woman would never survive winter in Scotland.

"Can I help you?"

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound came out. She swallowed and tried again.  _Stick to the plan, Hermione._  "Hi. I—er, I'm looking for Wendell and Monica Wilkins," she squeaked.

The woman's beady brown eyes narrowed. "The Wilkinses no longer live here."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, feigning surprise. "Well, er, do you know where they might have moved to?" She mentally berated herself for the utter lack of subtlety, but subterfuge was never one of her skills. She knew a formerly-Imperiused Gringotts goblin who could testify to that fact.

Thin fingers tapped on the doorframe as the woman evaluated Hermione. She broke eye contact to look outside and then jutted her head back. "Come on in. You're letting the heat out."

"Oh—I don't—"

"I'm not going to bite." The woman stood back from the door and waved Hermione in. "I need a second opinion on this spiced tea my Emmeline sent me from Guangzhou."

Hermione awkwardly followed the woman into a handsome kitchen, where a kettle sat on the stovetop. The woman prowled through the cupboards before pulling out a tin and two teacups. Hermione stiffly sat down at the cluttered dining table.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Her—er—Penelope." If Death Eaters had in fact found her parents, she did not need anyone to hear that Hermione Granger had come looking for them.

The tawny cat leapt lightly onto the dining table and weaved around boxes to sniff at Hermione's fingers. The other woman bobbed her head and hummed. "Delightful to meet you, Penelope. May I call you Penny?"

"Er—yes?" Hermione was completely baffled by this odd woman, who was now steeping the spiced tea. The cat lost interest in Hermione's hand and scratched his jaw on a box.

"Delightful," she said again. Silence settled over them and Hermione twisted her hands on the strap of her bag until the woman handed her a cup. "Try it first and then let me know if it needs milk or sugar."

Hermione sipped the hot tea and felt the spices clear her nasal passages. She coughed and set the cup down. "It's delicious," she said with a half-hidden grimace. The cat walked over to the abandoned teacup and sniffed before recoiling. He sat down several inches away and stared at Hermione.

The other woman closed her eyes as she savoured the tea. "It's a bit strong. Would do marvellous things for a headcold, but for now I think it could use a splash of milk. Do you agree, Penny?"

"I—sure. Yes." What had Hermione gotten herself in to? "Er—what's your name?"

"Hmm? Oh, Drusilla Binghampton. Please call me Dru." Dru retrieved the milk and doctored her tea before passing it to Hermione. They both took a long second taste of the drink before adding more milk. "This is awfully strong, isn't it?" Hermione gave a nervous laugh but said nothing. Dru set her cup on the wooden dining table and smiled. "Alright, Miss Penny. I can tell by your accent you're not from around here. Taking a holiday with some friends, perhaps?"

"Oh—er—no. I just completed my  _Diplôme de Pâtisserie_  and had an interest in working abroad, so a mutual friend suggested I get in touch with the Wilkinses to see if they might have a job for me." She rushed through her cover story and hoped the inquisitive woman bought it. The cat was still staring in a way that reminded Hermione of Crookshanks trying to determine if someone was trustworthy. The feline didn't  _look_  part-Kneazle, but he was certainly clever enough to be. Hermione felt the parchment again in her jeans and wished she had taken it out before. She hadn't considered the fact that Dru might be a witch.

Well, at least the fact that she could tell a lie meant the tea hadn't been laced with Veritaserum. That was something.

Thin fingers lightly drummed against the porcelain cup in front of Dru. "You flew nine-thousand miles on the word of a mutual friend?"

Hermione flushed red and tried to play it off as an over-eager, naïve mistake. "I was just so excited for the opportunity and I've never been to Australia before—" which was an outright lie, but at this point, who was counting? "—so I decided I'd rather talk to them in person and it was a grand opportunity to travel halfway across the world, but when I got to the bakery, it was gone, so I asked my friend and he gave me this address."

Dru's sharp eyes told Hermione she wasn't buying the story in the slightest. "Your 'friend' has obviously been out of touch with Wendell and Monica for quite some time." She sighed and gave Hermione a pitying look. "You really flew nine-thousand miles by yourself hoping for a job at a family-owned bakery after graduating an actual culinary programme?" Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Dru shook her head with a subtle twitch of her lips. "You're an optimistic one." She took another sip of tea while evaluating Hermione over the rim of her cup. It took all of Hermione's resolve not to squirm.

Finally, Dru must have decided she trusted Hermione, regardless if she did or didn't believe the story. "I only met the Wilkinses a year ago, when they first decided to sell the house. Emmeline, my partner,  _she_ met Monica a few months after they moved here. I know the rent for the store was set to increase in October, and it was already expensive. Plus Monica hated the weather. She said it was too hot in the summers, so they moved back to Europe last spring."

Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved that her parents moved of their own will, or distraught that they moved back home. "Did they go back to the UK?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Dru shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of. Monica went on and on about wanting to have a decent winter. I think they went to France initially, but I can't tell you much after that."

"A decent winter?" Hermione echoed. Her mother loved snow, she knew that much. Would have they moved to the Alps? All in all, there were few places in France that got cold enough for snow. Unless... "You wouldn't happen to know which province they moved to?"

Dru raised a thin black eyebrow. "Why is it so important for you to track these folks down?"

"I—" Hermione didn't have a pre-planned response for that question. "I just—"

"Never mind." Dru waved a dismissive hand. "I can't tell you much anyway, except Monica mentioned going to see a doctor in Bordeaux the last time we spoke."

_Bordeaux_. There was a town on the border of two provinces, halfway between Bordeaux and Toulouse. If Hermione remembered correctly from her childhood, it was the only town in either province that ever saw significant amounts of snow. They had visited it a few times, twice before she turned eleven, and once more after she started at Hogwarts. That's where they had to be, or it was at least where they had gone next.

Hermione stood and pretended to be disappointed by the lack of information. "Ah, well, thank you for your time anyway."

The woman shrugged and motioned for Hermione to wait. She padded over to the counter where the tin of tea still sat. "Here." Dru handed the tin to Hermione. "I'm not too taken with this one."

"You don't have to—"

"If you manage to find Wendell and Monica, just tell them it's a gift from Emmeline. Emmy was always bringing them things like that."

Hermione accepted the tin and tucked it into her already full satchel. "Thank you," she said graciously, and gave a not-so-subtle look at the door.

Dru took the hint with grace and headed for the door. The cat jumped off the table to follow the two women, keeping close to Hermione's ankles.

"Now, now, Simba. You're staying with me." Dru swept the cat up from the floor and opened the door. "Penny, I wish you luck. It was delightful to meet you."

"Thank you," Hermione said again. "It was lovely to meet you as well." She gave a half-curtsy on her way outside. By the time she reached the pavement, Hermione had decided to book the next available flight to Bordeaux or Toulouse, whichever was cheaper.

As she wandered off and began contemplating how she was going to hire a car once in France, she never turned around to see Dru leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. The woman turned to her tawny cat and scratched his ear. "Shall we go ring Monica and tell her that her daughter is on her way home?" The cat purred and nudged against her hand. "I quite agree. Best leave it a mutual surprise."

And she shut the door without giving further thought to the odd girl who lied about trying to find her parents.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, today's vaguely promised second chapter.

 

**Draco**

* * *

" _Qu'est ce que c'est qu'un_ 'screw'?"  _What the hell is a 'screw'?_  Draco grumbled as he looked over the disassembled chrome contraption sitting on the counter.

"Pardon your French, young man," Monica chided with a teasing grin. She patted his shoulder and looked at the components of the new espresso machine.

" _Je ne veux pas que_ Chrys _sache ce que je dis,_ " he replied.  _I don't want Chrys to know what I'm saying._

Shortly after Draco and Theodore Nott fled to the Muggle world, they had taken up the identities of a pair of brothers, Argyros and Chrysos Granger. After learning the Wilkinses' true identities, Draco sorely regretted choosing Granger as his new last name.

Theo, for as much as Draco appreciated his company, had a particular talent for annoying those around him. Upon walking in the store a few minutes earlier, Theo had pulled one of the bakery tables directly in front of the register, where he had a perfect view of Draco's newest trial.

"I heard my name. You know I don't understand what you're saying, right?" Theo asked, biting into a pink-frosted chocolate cupcake. Crumbs littered the table. He moved to dust them onto the floor, but paused when Draco glared.

"Don't you think that may have been the point?"

Monica turned to give Theo a stern look. "Mr. Granger, please move the table back to its original location." As the table scraped against the wooden floor, she leaned over and plucked a tiny silver bar out of the pile of components and held it up to Draco. "This is a screw. Now, pardon me. I need to tell your brother that he's going to be buffing those scratches out of my floor the Muggle way."

Draco heard a growl of  _"Chrysos Granger!"_  and contentedly sorted the screws into their own pile. His frustration flared again as he tried to figure out where they went. The associated schematic maybe made sense to someone who had been around Muggle technology for years, but for Draco, it might as well have been written in Chinese.

"I can't do this," he said when Monica came back.

She pursed her lips and Draco was sharply reminded that this was Hermione Granger's mother. "You can and you will.  _Bonjour! Comment puis-je t'aider?_ "  _Good morning! How can I help you?_

As soon at the Muggle woman turned away to address new customers, Draco found himself face-to-face with Theo, who had stepped behind the counter. "What's all this stuff?"

"You're not supposed to be back here," Draco snapped. Theo's golden eyes twinkled with mischief as his wand made an appearance just below the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt. Draco saw the movement and restrained himself from smacking his best friend upside the head. "Put that away  _now._ "

"You're no fun."

"You're supposed to be a Muggle, you two-Knut idiot."

"You use magic all the time now."

It was true that Draco used magic in the privacy of the kitchen and the Wilkinses' flat after placing charms to ensure the French Ministry couldn't track him, but he still had limitations. "In private.  _This_  is not private."

"I'm behind the counter. No one can see me."

"You're standing behind a glass display."

"Details, little brother."

Draco glowered at the diminutive phrase and straightened to his full height. "I am at least an inch taller than you."

"Ah, but you're younger."

"By eight months!"

"Yes, Draco, that is one definition of younger." Theo gave a wicked grin as Draco huffed. "Irish twins," he sighed. "Our poor, poor mother."

"Don't you have a job to do?"

"Lunch break. What are you doing?" Theo looked between the printed schematic and the components on the counter. "You're building this?"

"Attempting to."

"What's a screw?"

Draco held up the ridged silver bar Monica had identified. "Apparently it's this."

"We didn't have to use those on the bookshelves, did we?"

"No. Those were mostly nails and those pin things to hold up the shelves."

"Can you just put it together using a Sticking Charm?"

Draco shook his head. "They won't let me. I'm not convinced it would work anyway. Magic and electricity don't seem to get along."

"You and electricity seem to be getting on just fine."

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "That is not what I-go away."

"No."

"Monica," Draco called out as he moved closer to the wall to make Theo more obvious.

"Are you actually calling an adult on me?" Theo demanded with a petulant frown that was betrayed by the humour in his eyes.

Monica finished with her customer and turned to the men who were somewhat closer to  _boys_  at the current moment. "I don't see a mop in your hand, Chrysos." She perched her hands on her hips and Draco was reminded of Daphne Greengrass when she got in a temper over the state of the common room. There had been hexing and threats of the Imperius Curse more than once.

Theo seemed to be having a similar recollection because he mumbled something about his lunch break being over, and fled back to the bookstore.

Monica giggled as the door closed. "That was fun. How are you coming along?"

Draco resisted the temptation to throw the schematic on the ground and stomp back to the kitchen. "It hates me."

" _It_  is an inanimate object that is incapable if feeling one way or another. Here." She stood next to him and lifted a piece of rounded chrome. "I'll help you get started. Once you know what you're looking at, I have no doubt you'll be a professional in under a day."

"That's doubtful," Draco muttered.

"Attitude, young man."

"Yes, Mother," he retorted automatically and then froze. He didn't dare look at Monica to see her reaction. His own mother would be appalled that her only son made such a comment to another woman, and a Muggle at that. "I-"

"Are you ready?"

Draco nodded numbly and turned his full attention to the chrome torture device. Suddenly, dealing with the Muggle technology seemed a lot easier than dealing with anything else in his life.

* * *

Monica and Wendell, know-it-alls that they were, had been right. After the first half-hour, Draco had finished the rest of the assembly on his own. He even discarded the instructions at some point (prompting Monica to tut something along the lines of, " _Just like a man_ "). They all three agreed not to test the machine until after closing on Saturday, just in case it exploded and burnt down the store.

The task for the evening was just as daunting, if less technically complex. This time, Theo and Wendell sat in the Wilkinses' second bedroom, assembling a single bed while Monica and Draco organized a bookshelf, a desk, a chest of drawers, and a wardrobe. When Monica pulled a small dressing table from a closet, Draco set to work casting Extension charms on the room. Granger's parents were intent on making their daughter feel as comfortable as possible and didn't seem to be concerned with such plebeian things as square footage.

When the room was mostly complete, Draco and Theo started charming the walls and fabrics an array of colours for the Wilkinses to choose from.

After Theo charmed the bedding red and gold for the fourth time, Draco disarmed him and returned to running through a palette of pastels.

"Not fair," Theo whinged, and tried to retrieve his wand. Draco held it above his head. The other wizard jumped for it twice before dragging the chair from the desk over to stand on.

"Theodore," Monica warned. Theo pouted and returned the chair to its proper place. "I swear, you boys become more and more like brothers every day."

"Just keeping our cover," Theo quipped.

Monica shook her head with a slight smile before she looked at the walls. "That one," she said. "Husband, do you agree?"

Wendell had retreated to standing in one corner with a book in hand and reading glasses on the tip of his nose. "It's perfect."

"You haven't even looked at it," Monica huffed.

The Muggle looked at the pale blue on the walls and nodded. "It's perfect," he repeated.

"That was less convincing than the first time."

Wendell shrugged. "It's missing something."

Draco looked over his handiwork and wrinkled his nose. He hated to agree with Wendell about anything, but the man was right. Even as a light blue, it was too blue.

Theo took that moment of distraction to steal his wand back and charm the bedclothes scarlet and gold  _again_. "Perfect."

Draco groaned but Monica held up a hand. "What about pale gold accents?"

A few adjustments later and they had the room completed, down to a single red-and-gold pillow Draco had conceded to Theo.

"And now we wait," Monica said.

* * *

They didn't have to wait long. As Draco exchanged an empty pie dish in the display for a fresh apple-rhubarb pie the next afternoon, a gravity-resistant mane of brown hair caught his attention as its owner ducked into the bookstore with Wendell.

His heart began racing and he felt his fingers go numb. No matter how prepared he was to present his proposition to the witch, he still knew she could choose to turn him in instead. She could choose to take her parents to St. Mungo's and employ trained mind Healers. He could offer her nothing other than privacy and immediate assistance. He hoped that would be enough.

"Monica," he called into the kitchen. His voice was at least an octave higher than it should have been.

"Yes?" she asked, and hissed as he heard an oven door slam shut. She walked out to the front with a hand rubbing her temple and her eyes shut a moment later.

"Headache?"

"Just a minor one."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Monica grimaced as she tried to open her eyes. "I'm fine, honestly."

"What are you seeing?"

"Nothing. It's just pain this time. Headaches do exist outside of magical causes, love."

Draco watched the bookstore through the windows. "Hopefully it'll all be over soon. Hermione's here."

This time, Monica was able to open her eyes fully. "You saw her?" Hope, affection, apprehension, excitement, anxiety, and an hundred other emotions raced across her face faster than Draco could identify them.

"She went into the bookstore with Wendell a few minutes ago."

Tears filled Monica's eyes as she clapped a hand over her mouth. "She's real," she said with the same breathless disbelief she had the first time Draco confirmed Granger's existence.

"And she's here."

"Okay." Monica bit her lip to keep from either smiling or crying, Draco wasn't sure. "So what is your plan?"

One marked difference between Monica and any of the other parental figures in his life was her complete lack of judgment. Draco could voice any insecurity and she would nod quietly, without making him feel ashamed or weak, which is why he was able to voice his thoughts now with only slight embarrassment. "I don't think I'm ready to face her yet."

"When?"

Draco cringed, trying balance the importance of getting Monica help and facing his current worst fear. Intellectually, he knew Monica deserved- _needed-_ priority, but his instincts for self-preservation were on high alert.

"Tomorrow. Dinner tomorrow."

"Do you promise?"

He nodded. "I do. I promise. I will talk to Hermione tomorrow evening and we'll start getting you sorted out."

"Thank you." Monica sighed and rubbed just above her eyebrows. "The bookshop, you said? I think I need to go find my husband and ask him to mind the store."

Granger and Wendell reappeared outside the bookstore several minutes later, each with a stack of books in hand and Monica grinning as she directed their attention to everything except the bakery. As soon as they were in arm's length of the door, Draco disappeared from view. He stayed into the kitchen for the rest of his shift, even as he heard Hermione Granger's familiar voice float through the store.

He could face her tomorrow. Tomorrow was good enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hermione**

* * *

Hermione planned to fly back across the world until she called a travel agency. When the agent informed her that it would be two-and-a-half days of non-stop travel, three flights, and well over £3,000, Hermione swallowed her pride and spent a fraction of the cost on a phone call to Harry. At noon the next day, she had a Portkey from Perth to Paris. Two hours after that, she had a car, a map, and a hammering heart.

Every kilometre seemed to pass by slower and slower as Hermione headed south. She spent the first two hours of the drive talking herself out of being terrified. Dru spoke of her mother in the present tense. Her parents were alive. They hadn't been uncovered by Death Eaters. They were alive and well.

"They're fine," Hermione chanted over the static of the radio. "They're fine."

The road took her down into a valley, where she saw little brown dots turn into rooves and chimneys towering over well-kept gardens. From above, the town looked like something from a picture book. It was the kind of place where people owned cars to travel, not commute. As Hermione watched the town grow closer, she understood why her parents were drawn to this place. It was the kind of peaceful that could never be acquired in modern London.

Maybe she would find an excuse to extend her holiday.

Hermione parked in a nearly empty car park on the business end of town and closed her door with shaking hands. "They're fine. They're fine," she repeated to herself. "Step one: find them. Step two: ask them to recommend a play to stay. Step three: befriend them and analyse the state of the charm. Step four: begin removal process. Step five: bring them home."

With her plan firmly in place, she threw her satchel over one shoulder, stood straight, and marched forward.

She saw her father before she found the bakery. He was talking to a grocer in careful French, stumbling over some of the words while the other man looked amused. Clearly his months in France had done little for his proficiency with the language.

He stepped away from the grocer after a few minutes and Hermione attempted to move from the spot where she stood rooted to the ground and staring. All of her careful step-by-step plans faded as she watched her father laugh for the first time in two years.

 _Courage, Gryffindor_ , she thought, and forced her feet to move. She feet the squelching mud beneath her boots. "Excuse me?"

Wendell Granger's head whipped around and met Hermione's eyes. She thought she saw a flare of recognition before his expression became confused. Her heart started thumping rapidly. Maybe the Memory Charm had broken on its own. Maybe, just maybe, he would whisper her name with pride like he did every time she stepped off the Hogwarts Express.

But he remained silent, so she took another breath and spoke again. "I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of somewhere to get food. I've been travelling and find myself famished." The truth was sincerely opposite; her stomach was so twisted that anything heavier than bone broth would surely upset it. But she had no other option. It was the one question that would guarantee a response.

Her father's face broke into a grin. "As it happens, I can walk you to such an establishment myself." He held out a friendly hand. "Wendell Wilkins."

Hermione accepted it with a distinct sense of guilt as her father used his false name. "Hermione Granger."

The look of recognition happened again before her father schooled his features into an unassuming smile. "Pleased to meet you, Hermione."

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name and the emotion behind it. He knew her, whether he could remember her or not. Memory Charmed and two countries later, he still knew her. That was the power of a father's love, she marvelled.

The pair started toward the bakery and she was torn between studying it and studying the man to her right. The bakery itself appeared simple from afar, with an employee ducking in and out of the kitchen to refresh the display. She didn't see any sign of her mother, so she looked back to her father. The creases around his eyes were deeper than she remembered and he looked tired beneath his smile. His hair was still cropped fairly short to keep it manageable. Otherwise, he seemed fine. He had no visible scars, and after the last two years, Hermione counted that as a win.

Wendell started slowing down as they got closer to the store and Hermione sensed hesitancy when he looked at the door.

"Hermione, do you mind if we pop into the bookshop first?"

Her rebellious stomach cheered at the suggestion. "I can't say no to books," she answered, and followed him through a door guarded by several two- and three-foot high stacks.

"Good afternoon Chrys," her father said to the young man at the counter. Hermione had barely turned her head to get a good look at him before the clerk made some comment about tea and scarpered. Wendell snorted and shook his head. "That boy and his stomach. I've known him eight months and nine-tenths of his conversations turn to food."

Hermione felt a pressure around her heart as his comment reminded her of Ron and Harry. Now that she wasn't keeping busy at Hogwarts, now that she was  _here_  for however long it took to return her parents' memories, she missed her boys. She wondered if there would ever come a time in her life when she wasn't missing someone she loved.

"Are-are you looking for something particular?" Hermione asked, shoving the thoughts of her best friends away. She had found her parents. She needed to be focused on them.

Wendell peeked around a solid walnut bookshelf and started sorting through titles. "I'll know once I see it." He read over the back of one cover and gave her a wink. "It appears I'm looking for new recipes."

Hermione laughed and moved in next to him, rifling through the bottom shelves as she always did before the Memory Charm. Before the war. She picked the five cookbooks with the brightest covers and held them up for inspection.

"We own the first and fourth," her father mused with a frown, "but hold onto the other three. Monica might like those."

Hermione fought back her giddiness at the sound of her mother's name. She moved the books deliberately into a stack to keep her hands steady. "The name of that bakery is Wilkins, isn't it?" she asked innocently. "Do you own it?"

Wendell looked amused as he flipped through pages. "My wife and I do, yes."

"How long have you been here?"

"Nearly a year." Her father looked down at her again as she pulled a dozen books off the bottom shelf and sat down to read them over. "And you?"

"Oh-I just flew in today."

"From where?"

Hermione tried to keep her tone casual as she met her father's eyes. "Perth."

He whistled and reshelved the book in his hand. "There's a distance. Where did you layover?"

Hermione wracked her brain for the intermediate cities the travel agent had suggested. "Bangkok," she said without certainty.

"Husband?"

Her mother's voice floated back through the shelves, derailing the conversation and saving Hermione from having to create more lies. Hermione haphazardly chose a handful of books to purchase out of habit, and she noticed her father did the same.

"Wife," Wendell called back. The sound of her parents calling for one another surrounded Hermione like a warm blanket. Their memories may be gone, but they were themselves.

Hermione wanted to cry when her mother stepped into view. The jewelled combs holding back her mother's dark hair had been a Christmas gift eight years ago. Her father had given her £10 to find something at the last minute on Christmas Eve, and the metal combs with their fake gems had been exactly £10.

And her mother was still wearing them.

"Wendell," her mother said with a strain in her voice. "Can you come watch the store for the afternoon? I've a headache and Argyros…." She trailed off and smiled at Hermione. "And you are?"

"Hermione Granger." Hermione examined her mother and saw the evidence of a migraine in the tightness of her brows and the water in her eyes. Was this from the Memory Charm?

"Hermione," her mother said with the same affection as her father. "Lovely to meet you. I'm Monica."

"Hi Monica," Hermione whispered.

The reunited family stood in stasis for a long minute before Wendell cleared his throat and moved them toward the replacement clerk. By the time they left the store, the awkwardness had disappeared as they poured over their purchases. Hermione's parents debated which new recipe to try first and which to force their employee to test.

"We can do the simple things," Monica argued as they stepped into the bakery. "Argyros needs to be challenged."

"I don't disagree with that, but I think we should focus on teaching him to use the espresso machine. We know the boy can follow a recipe, no matter how tedious."

"Husband,  _we_  don't even know how to work the espresso machine."

"Which is why he is going to teach us."

Their good-natured bickering continued until Monica disappeared to attend her headache. Hermione set her books on a table and pretended to look at the food while she took in the bakery. It was smallish, with a few tables and chairs scattered about and a ficus against one wall. The entire front wall of the store was windowed, giving her parents a perfect view of the little town.

As a child, Hermione had spent hours at their dental practice, examining the tools in empty rooms and trying to turn on the x-ray machine. More than one hygienist demanded her parents find a sitter on school holidays. Hermione was always out of place and in the way at the practice.

This was different. As she watched her father greet a patron and make small talk that left the elderly man chuckling, she felt an eerie sense of belonging. She could imagine sipping coffee and reading in a corner or giving her parents a hand and getting to know the locals.

No. No, this wasn't right. Hermione shook her head to clear out her cloudy thoughts. Her life was in the UK. This was temporary.

"Where are you staying while you're here, Hermione?"

She looked at the man behind the counter and saw some sort of calculation going on in his brilliant mind. "I was hoping you might recommend somewhere, actually."

Wendell grinned. "As it happens, Monica and I have a spare room. You're welcome to borrow it."

Hermione's heart stuttered for a moment. A spare room? It was too perfect. "I-I-I can pay you," she choked out. They remembered her. They  _had_ to.

"How long are you planning to stay for?"

"I don't know yet."

"That's fine. We'll work out payment later. I'm going to close up in about three hours, so feel free to do whatever you need until then."

"I-I will. I will."

* * *

The first night in her parents' flat was unreal. They were kind and engaging, regaling her with stories of their employee and his brother, who Hermione deduced was the phantom bookstore clerk. She was quietly thrilled at the idea she might find friends her own age, and befriending a pair of boys was nothing new. It didn't take a genius to recognize that her parents had each picked a favourite brother, and she was curious which would be hers.

As good parents do, they sent her off to bed once she started yawning. The powder blue and soft gold bedroom was another surprise. For a guest room, it was surprisingly large compared to the rest of the flat. She fought the urge to unpack her beaded bag and fill the drawers and shelves with her own things. This was  _her_  room, down to the little decorative red and gold pillow on the bed.

Hermione sat cross-legged on the bed with the Gryffindor-coloured pillow clutched against her chest and stared at the room in wonder until her eyes closed on their own.

* * *

Hours later, she had the strangest dream. As if trapped in a fog, she changed into pyjamas with some difficulty in the dark of her bedroom. After missing one leg of her shorts twice and putting on her shirt backwards, she visited the bathroom to brush her teeth only to find the mirror blocked by Draco Malfoy. The long-missing runaway was attacking shoulder-length brown hair with a flat iron. He met her eyes and the scene froze.

Hermione frowned at the bizarre sight of a terrified Malfoy framed by floral wallpaper in a very Muggle bathroom. After a minute, she turned on her heel and went into the kitchen to brush her teeth instead.

* * *

When she woke well after daybreak, Hermione stretched on the bed and took in the smell of fresh bread and something sweet. Her stomach loudly informed her it was empty and she hurried through getting dressed, only to pause at the sight of the unplugged flat iron in the bathroom.

The dream of her missing classmate was confusing to say the least. He seemed so real even though so many of the details were wrong-his hair, his comfort with Muggle technology, the web of scars across his face. She tried to analyse the dream as she headed in the direction of the smells. The scars could easily be a manifestation of his sins. She had come to realize over the last year that he had been as much of a victim in the war as she, and had decided that while he should still be tried for his crimes, the Wizengamot needed to take his situation into account. Perhaps that was why his scars were so prominent but clearly healed in the dream—his past would always colour how she saw him, but she had forgiven him. As for the rest, the Muggle technology could just be associating his disappearance with the search for her parents. But why the hair?

"Help yourself to whatever you like for breakfast," Monica said when Hermione made it to the living room. Her mother was propped up on the sofa with a towel over her eyes and a book resting on her chest. "I'm afraid I'm not up to standing at the moment."

Thoughts of food disappeared as concern replaced Hermione's hunger. She sat down on the edge of an armchair and examined her mother for a long moment before Monica gave a weak chuckle. "I can feel you staring, Hermione."

Hermione flushed a deep red and began to stammer an excuse. "I'm-I'm just concerned. Is it a headache? Like yesterday?"

"Yes."

Passages from her sole reliable resource on Memory Charms flooded Hermione's thoughts. Headaches were a nearly certain sign of a decaying charm. Left untreated, they could be debilitating to the point of insanity. She started running through lists of potions that could ease the pain and block the memories, but potions only treated the symptoms. The 'disease' would still exist. Additionally, there was no guarantee a potion would help her mother. Very little research had been done on Muggle use of potions since the Statute of Secrecy was ratified, and Hermione imagined that Muggle painkillers had little effect on magical migraines.

Would this research require a trip to the Hogwarts library? Or perhaps bribing someone at St. Mungo's for access to their materials? Would the most recent studies even be relevant anymore?

Her mind drifted to Zabini's Potions essays near the end of the school year. He was brilliant, making connections she never would have dreamed. Perhaps she could reach out to him and ask a few hypothetical questions. Of course, when dealing with a Slytherin it always helped to have a bargain in place. A casual conversation with Daphne could help her figure out what she could offer in return for his advice.

"Where is your mind, Hermione?" her mother asked with exhaustion.

"School." The half-truth came out easily. "I recently graduated."

"Top of your class, I assume?"

Hermione involuntarily smiled. "Of course, though Anthony Goldstein and Blaise Zabini didn't make it easy." The smile disappeared when she remembered that her mother had no idea who she was talking about.

"You learn best when you're challenged." Monica exhaled sharply, and Hermione realized the conversation was taking a toll on her.

"I'll get something to eat downstairs and let you rest," Hermione said, and stood to leave before another question occurred to her. "How long have you had these headaches?"

Monica lifted a corner of the towel and looked at Hermione with one eye. "For as long as I can remember."

The words shattered something in Hermione's heart. Two years. She had subjected her mother to this curse for two years. "I am so sorry," she whispered.

Downstairs, the kitchen was quiet except for the sound of her father's fingers tapping against one counter. A grin broke across his face when he caught sight of her.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

She pushed her guilt to the back of her mind and gave a weak smile at his teasing formality, another trait that seemed imbedded in her father's personality. She wanted to run over and hug him good morning like she did as a child, or approach him with a faux-snobbish upturn of her nose and hold out her knuckles for him to kiss. She thought he might take her hand instead, as he always did, and spin her like a princess in a ballgown. Her mother always laughed at the sight of Wendell and Hermione putting on their best society manners whilst in pyjamas and only asked them not to knock into the china cabinet.

Oh, how she missed her parents.

Instead of giving into impulse, Hermione offered her father a full curtsy with a demure, "Good morning to you, Mr. Wilkins."

"And what is on your agenda this morning?"

Hermione's stomach rumbled in a rather Ron-like fashion. "I shall start with breakfast. Beyond that, I must write a letter to a number of friends to let them know I've arrived and shan't be returning until I've grown positively weary of this charming little town. Later, I might explore the area. Perhaps I'll find a debonair aristocrat to show me his favourite locales before inviting me to his chateau for tea."

"His chateau?"

"Of course. We'll arrive by private helicopter and his manservant will alert the staff that a young woman who just might be British royalty in disguise has agreed to take tea with their chronically single scion."

As Hermione wove the tale, she felt her smile turn genuine. This was her Muggle life, where she didn't have to prove she belonged. Where she didn't have to drown herself in magical theory and practical application until she could best any condescending pure-blood. Where she didn't have to take care of her boys or worry about war. At some point, the wizarding world had trapped her spirit in a magic-bound box while the Muggle world allowed her to be anything she wanted.

"I'm afraid we're sorely lacking in aristocrats around these parts," her father said with an amused shrug. "Do you speak French?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "I can pronounce  _bouillabaisse_. Does that count?"

"That rather limits your potential companions to seven English speakers and three townsfolk that would be kind enough to show you around regardless if you can understand them."

"I suppose I can learn my way around on my own, then," she said with affected exasperation.

Wendell gestured to the door to the front room of the bakery. "If Chrys is out there terrorizing his brother, he might be willing to take you."

"Chrys from the bookstore?"

"One and the same. He moved here from Britain this time last year and speaks about as much French as I speak Spanish."

Hermione snorted. Her father knew exactly seven words of Spanish and pronounced all of them wrong.

Her stomach rumbled again, and she finally caved to her need for food. As she walked into the bakery, she was acutely aware of her father following close behind. Something seemed odd about that, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

She browsed the display of muffins, bagels, fresh breads, and croissants before looking up at the thin young man standing stone-still behind the counter.

Hermione froze as fear flooded her veins at the sight of Draco Malfoy staring back at her with a sickly pallor to the unscarred side of his face. They stood, locked in fear of one another for an eternity before Hermione's Gryffindor instincts kicked in.

She dropped her wand into her right hand and had it pointed at his face before he could move. She turned to the side, protecting her core in a duelling stance she had used too many times in her eighteenth year. Statute of Secrecy be damned; she wasn't going to let a Death Eater take her parents away when she had just found them again.

"How did you find them?" she demanded. Malfoy said nothing but backed away from her wand until he was bent backward over the back counter. The familiar look of fear on his face only angered her more. "HOW DID YOU FIND THEM?" she roared, and prepared a hex on the tip of her tongue before he could run away like he always did.

"Granger-" he whimpered.

Hermione snarled at the sound of Malfoy's voice. "HOW MANY OF YOU ARE THERE?"

He raised his hands as he cringed. "Just me. It's just me." His eyes focused on the tip of her wand, which was pointed rather viciously at his nose.

Hermione silently cast an Anti-Disapparating Jinx over the store. "Harry and Ron are going to love bringing you in." With a gentle flick of her wand, a silvery otter swept into the air.

"I can break the Memory Charm," he choked out with a tone of utter panic.

Both Hermione and her Patronus froze. Her heart started racing against her better sense. He was lying. He was lying to save his own skin, because that was what Malfoys always did.

 _But what if it's true?_  her mind whispered.

The otter disappeared as Hermione lowered her voice. "How do you know about the Memory Charm?"

Malfoy started to lower his hands until Hermione's wand whipped back in the direction of his face. "Legilimency. I can see the fog around their memories."

"YOU INVADED THEIR MINDS?"

"Your mother is sick, Granger!"

"I know that!" Hermione snapped. "And I know what can happen if I can't break the charm, which I am going to do without help from a wanted criminal!"

"You can't do it, Granger, no matter how smart you think you are. This charm was done by an amateur."

"I know I messed it up!" she yelled.

Malfoy's jaw dropped and Hermione suddenly became aware that her father had been watching the argument with something akin to amusement until her confession. She saw confusion cross his face first, before his mouth hardened into a thin line. She recognized the stubborn denial in his eyes. He didn't believe she could be responsible.

Unfortunately, Malfoy did. A predatory grin spread across his face as he dropped his hands and stepped away from the wall. "You, Hermione Granger, modified the memories of two Muggles?"

Hermione sniffed and raised her chin. "To protect them from  _you_  and your  _roommates_ at the Manor."

Malfoy winced but stepped forward again. "Still illegal."

"So is torture, but you seemed to have no problem letting that happen."

"HERMIONE."

To her shock, the reprimand came from her father as Malfoy looked sick. "No-you can't-" she stuttered. "He's a Death Eater!"

"I know."

Hermione felt like the floor might drop from beneath her feet. Some vague notion passed through the back of her mind that this was not an argument to have on an empty stomach.

"You know?" she asked in a voice nearly too weak to hear. How?  _How?_

"He told your mother and I months ago."

"You know," Hermione said again, trying to reconcile the last twenty-four hours with the idea that her parents knew all along that she was their daughter. It explained the offer to let her stay at the flat and the bedroom with the Gryffindor pillow.

And they knew-they  _knew_ -what Death Eaters were. She had done so much to protect them from the darker parts of the wizarding world and in the end, they found out anyway.

"We thought they were attacked by followers of the Dark Lord, but this is so much better," Malfoy said with the same patronizing drawl that tormented her teenage years. "I can see the headline now,  _War Heroine Assaults Muggles_. How much do you think the  _Daily Prophet_  would pay for such an exposé? An article about your devious little mind might be easier than writing about Weasley's Quidditch skills."

"Harry will see you to Azkaban before you can ink your quill."

"Oh, don't you know Granger? I use a Muggle pen now." And to that point, Malfoy pulled a biro from behind his ear and spun it through long fingers.

The world no longer made sense as Hermione realized that her dream that morning hadn't been a dream. Malfoy had really been in her parents' bathroom using a Muggle flat iron. Malfoy was using Muggle pens. Malfoy was  _working in a Muggle bakery_.

"What is happening right now?" she whispered.

"You are about to accept my offer to break your parents' Memory Charm in exchange for not telling your precious Potter where I am."

Hermione growled at the bargain. "Never."

"You have no choice," he said with a smirk, grey eyes flashing. "Otherwise, I'm taking you down with me. Shacklebolt might forgive his favourite lioness, but the public won't."

Hermione straightened her arm and debated on dispatching her Patronus or first finishing off Malfoy's complexion with a boils hex to rival Marietta Edgecombe's forehead. "You scheming Slytherin-"

And the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's one thing to rationalize the actions of an enemy you may never see again; it's another to come face-to-face with that enemy in an already emotionally charged situation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Draco**

* * *

The first sixty seconds after Hermione Granger collapsed, Wendell stared in shock at the sight of his daughter sprawled out on the floor while Draco did everything in his power not to laugh. Served the woman right, getting Stunned in the midst of her self-righteous rant. He needed to thank Theo for coming up with the Taboo so many months ago. It may have just saved them from Azkaban.

Draco pulled out his wand and charmed the windows of the bakery to hide himself and Granger from public view. He allowed himself one last chuckle before pocketing her wand and levitating her with a quiet, " _Mobilicorpus._ "

"What are you going to do with her?" Wendell asked. The Muggle's temperament was rapidly changing from shocked confusion to cold anger. Draco ignored the man and began moving Granger back through the kitchen to the flat. Somehow he knew that Wendell would find a way to blame all of this on him rather than the  _sweet, innocent_  Daddy's girl. Forget the fact that Granger was about to send the one person who could help Monica to prison.

Draco levitated Granger until her head hit the corner where the ceiling met two walls, giving him room to open the door to the flat. As he backed into the living room, he drew her inside. Her head hit the doorframe with a  _thunk_  that reminded him pleasantly of her initial collapse to the floor.

"Draco?" Monica asked from the sofa. He heard her switch sitting positions and take several stabilizing breaths before she spoke again. "What happened to Hermione?"

"The Taboo. She said the name of my house, which was damn good timing. She was about to contact the Aurors."

Monica sighed. "Here, put her on the sofa."

"You should stay-"

"I should move to my bedroom. I was only out here to see her when she woke up."

The cheeriness that had washed over Draco at Granger's literal downfall evaporated as Monica left. It was his fault that her headaches were getting worse. He was the one who went into her mind and weakened the already unstable Memory Charm. He needed to fix it before she lost her mind altogether.

But that could only happen if Granger agreed to help.

When the impetuous witch was fully settled on the sofa, Draco woke her up against his better judgment. At least her wand was nowhere within reach.

"Malfoy," she spat when her eyes landed on him.

"Granger. Are you ready to listen now?" He folded his arms and glared down at her, keeping the coffee table between them.

The woman reached for her wand only to find it missing. Her hair seemed to grow enraged as she snarled, similar to the bristling tail of an angry cat. "Where. Is. My. Wand?"

"And why do you think I would allow you to keep your wand when you plan to use it to send me to Azkaban?"

Granger hissed and opened her right palm as she stood. A small sun the size of a Bludger hovered above her skin. The light in the flat seemed to grow dim as Granger wandlessly levitated the coffee table out of the way and stepped forward, the flames of the sun creating a deadly reflection in her eyes.

Forget Azkaban and Aurors. Draco was one-hundred percent certain that Hermione Granger was about to kill him.

"Where. Is. My. Wand?" she asked again in the same dangerous cadence. Draco didn't move to hand it back, more out of paralysing fear than stubbornness.

Granger's hand drew back and Draco broke from his trance to cast a Shield Charm just as the fireball headed for his shoulder. Granger took no time conjuring a second one, which he blocked before leaping past one armchair and sending a Stunner her way. She raised her left hand just in front of her shoulder and he saw a blue-tinged shield completely surround her body. He was not prepared for the Stinging Hex that flew  _through_  the shield a moment later and struck him in the side just before he made it into the flat's tiny open kitchen.

Using the breakfast bar as a barrier, Draco set to sending the nastiest jinxes and hexes he could think of that might penetrate the shield. With some satisfaction, he noticed that an orange gout-inducing hex caused significant damage to Granger's defenses with flash of white light. When nothing else, hex or jinx, dealt nearly as decent of a blow, Draco did a quick analysis.

A Potions theory came to mind regarding the interplay of complementary colours in identifying Potions which could be ingested in succession. Blue and orange were one such pair.

Orange was a terribly rare colour for spells, however, so Draco switched tactics. He saw Granger's eyes grow wide with confusion as he cast a colour-changing charm at her whilst ducking another fireball.

Granger's shield turned just the faintest shade of green, and Draco immediately shot red Stunner after red Stunner at it until it shattered in a burst of brilliant white light and Granger fell unconscious onto the sofa.

"Getting along then, I see," came an amused voice from the entry. Theo walked calmly into the kitchen and put out a burning hand towel.

"How long have you been standing there?" Draco tried to work up the energy to be annoyed with his roommate, but dueling Granger had wiped him out. He sat back against a counter and panted.

Theo examined a scorched cabinet before he transfigured the burned towel into wallpaper. He wrapped the wallpaper around the cabinet, effectively hiding the spell-damage but also making it the only cabinet to display a picture of a one-eared moose and a Canadian flag.

"I think they're going to notice something," Draco said dryly.

"I'm recycling," Theo responded. "It's not my fault Granger set fire to the one towel that had a moose on it."

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm surprised Wendell didn't come running up here to defend his little angel."

"He knows better than to get into the middle of a duel. He sent me up here to sort you out."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Theo without turning his head. "Well done. You did a bang-up job letting the witch almost kill me."

"She didn't have a wand," Theo pointed out. "It didn't seem fair to have two armed wizards going after her."

"Did you happen to notice that she was shooting off spells from  _both_  hands?"

"I don't know that I'd consider fireballs  _spells_ , exactly-"

"Someday soon, I am going to strangle you."

Theo grinned and shrugged. "Then you'll be stuck with Granger for your only magical company."

"I loathe you."

"I'll live." Theo wiped his hands on his jeans and nodded. "It almost looks like nothing happened here." He chanted a couple of spells that Draco recognized as counters to silencing charms.

"How long were you standing there, exactly?" Draco asked with a frustrated growl.

"Long enough to make sure nobody could hear you once you got loud."

"And you didn't help."

"You have all of this pent-up aggression. It's not healthy. I figured Granger could help you out in one way...or  _another_." Theo smirked as Draco gagged at the innuendo. "So how did you end up fighting Granger in the first place?"

Draco used a sticking charm to hold Granger's hands and feet in place when she started stirring. "She was preparing to alert Potter, triggered the Taboo-thanks for that, by the way-, and then woke up to find her wand missing. How was I supposed to know she doesn't  _need_  a wand?"

"Other than the time she punched you?"

"She didn't punch me," Draco pouted. "It was a slap."

"According to your minions, it was a punch."

"Do you work today?" Draco asked, changing the subject away from his previous altercation with Granger.

Theo narrowed his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you're about to ask me to work the register so you can avoid Granger and Wendell?"

"I'll bring you free cupcakes for a week."

Theo mulled over the bargain. "And I don't have to wear the black apron." He stared at Draco's apron for a minute before he charmed it a yellow that made Draco squint. "That's better."

Draco charmed it a darker shade before he passed it over to Theo. "Don't blind my customers."

"So why am I helping you?"

"I have a project I need to finish sooner rather than later."

"Does this have anything to do with the ghastly puce-coloured potion that's been simmering on my dining table for two weeks?"

" _Your_  dining table?"

Theo gave a sharp nod. "Since you've taken to spending nearly all your time around the Wilkinses, I've decided to claim Blaise's house for my own. I'll be charging you rent by the hour, with a premium for every time you decide to cook potions where I eat."

"It's just a pain potion," Draco protested.

"It smells like boiled socks."

"It does not."

"And rosemary. It's very disconcerting."

"You're impossible."

"I, Chrysos Leonardo Granger, do take offense to your tone," Theo declared.

Draco looked to the heavens for help. "We have middle names now?"

Theo nodded. "Yours is Fred."

Draco's jaw dropped. "What kind of common atrocity is that? I cannot be Argyros FRED Granger!"

"You stole my last name?" came a quiet hiss from next to Draco's ear. He jumped and landed against the countertop, letting out a string of swears that would have inspired Narcissa Malfoy to disown him. Really, Granger was more cat-like than McGonagall, and at least three times more frightening.

"We couldn't exactly pretend to be Malfoys, now, could we? Blond hair isn't at all flattering on me," Theo answered. "And there's the bit about being on the run from the Ministry."

Draco watched with utter disbelief as Granger's eyes softened when she looked at his companion.

"Theodore Nott," she breathed, and pulled the man into a tight hug. "We were so worried."

Theo, for his part, looked as if Granger had cast a Full Body-Bind on him. "I don't understand what's happening here." He looked to Draco for help as the suddenly emotional Gryffindor refused to let go. Draco shrugged and smirked. Far be it from him to intrude on such a touching moment.

"We knew you had gone into hiding, but Daphne and Zabini didn't have the faintest idea where to look-" Draco withheld a snort at Granger's gullible innocence, "-but we mostly assumed you had fled to America with your father, but I suppose it makes sense that you went off on your own since you weren't one of them, not really. You may have been Marked, but you were never one of them."

Granger ran out of breath and stopped rambling. She pulled back from Theo, whose eyes were wide with a disconcerted look somewhere between bafflement and fear. Granger blushed madly as she mumbled an apology. "I suppose you aren't used to hugs." With a sudden change in attitude, she backhanded Draco's shoulder.

"What was that for?" he yelped and rubbed his newest injury.

"You lied to me! You said you were the only one here."

Draco flared his nostrils in a sneer. "You should have specified whether 'here' meant the bakery or the town, or perhaps France itself."

"Mate, are trying to get her to kill you?" Theo asked. "Because I'd rather not have to deliver that news to your mother."

Granger rubbed her forehead in a gesture Draco had seen Monica do an hundred times. "You're Chrys and Argyros."

"At your service," Theo said with a sweeping bow. Draco merely observed the pair and said nothing. Theo had a point. He didn't trust Granger not to hex him if he opened his mouth again.

"You work in the bookstore."

Theo nodded. "And most of my pay remains firmly in the hands of my employer seeing as I'd rather have books than francs."

Draco swore Granger's eyes lit up at the realization that Theo was as much of a bookworm as she. Ever since Monica and Wendell recommended a series of Muggle novels, Theo had been addicted to Muggle fiction. Draco had woken up one morning to a nest of giant eagles in one corner of his bedroom with a flaming eye staring down at him from the ceiling. He was not proud of his reaction, though he was proud of his retaliatory jinx that forced Theo to speak in limericks through a full shift at the bookstore.

While Granger and Theo struck up a wildly unlikely instant friendship, Draco edged toward the door. He was almost free of the flat when his feet were stuck precariously to the top of the stairs leading down to the bakery.

"You're not going anywhere, Malfoy." He felt his feet lift from the floor and he floated backwards until the stairs looked more like weapons than a passageway.

"I already told you I can break the Memory Charm, Granger," Draco said. He managed to keep his voice calm and even. He risked a look at Theo, who made a motion to keep talking. The other man had his wand raised, though it wasn't pointed at Granger.

"How?" the witch demanded. "How do you plan to break it?"

"I-" He felt himself suddenly drop a good foot and yelped. Granger swayed and he realized she was nearly out of energy. "Let me down before you hurt yourself, Granger."

"You haven't answered my question. Why would you help my parents?"

"That's not the same question."

Granger growled and Draco drifted higher again. "So answer both."

Over the witch's shoulder, Theo counted five beats on his fingers. When he hit zero, Draco braced to fall as Granger passed out for the third time.

A Cushioning Charm from Theo made the fall far less painful than it might have been, excluding the bruise to his ego when Wendell gave a smug smile as Draco tumbled against the wall.

"Hermione?"

Draco winced as he stood. "Your daughter is a bloody menace."

"You mean she can defend herself."

" _I mean_ , it turns out she's taught herself wandless magic and just dangled me over the stairs until she exhausted her energy."

The Muggle's face switched from smug to concerned in a flash. Honestly, the man's blind devotion to his daughter was infuriating. "Is she alright?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Draco retorted. "Your precious  _cœur_ is fine. I imagine Theo's getting her settled and then he's going to come work the front for the day."

Wendell looked a bit pale at the threat of Theo speaking to his customers. "Where are you going to be?"

"Busy." Draco headed for the back door of the bakery. "Don't you trust me?"

At his employer's horrified expression, Draco Disapparated with a grin like a Cheshire cat.

* * *

He reappeared hours later to find Theo working with Granger on dinner while regaling her with stories about the patrons of the bookstore. Granger still appeared a bit pale from exhausting herself earlier in the day, but was fully engaged in the conversation. Draco cast a quiet Disillusionment Charm on himself and edged down the hallway to Monica and Wendell's room.

"Come in," Monica said at the sound of his knock. "I thought it was you."

Removing the charm, Draco crossed the room and handed a phial to Monica. "This should help with the headaches."

Monica took the phial and raised an eyebrow. "This looks terrible."

"Pain potions are disgusting and I had to simmer this one several extra days to reduce its potency. According to my theory, pain potions used by Muggles should have about an eighth of the strength of a normal potion. This one is still slightly stronger than that."

Monica nodded and uncorked the phial. She took a single whiff of the potion, grimaced, and plugged her nose as she drank the dose in a single go.

She looked confused as she set the empty bottle aside. "It tastes like...rosemary? How can something smell that foul and taste fine?"

Draco gave a small grin. "Magic." Monica feigned throwing a pillow at him. "How do you feel?"

Monica tilted her head to the left and then to the right. "Nearly perfect." With caution that suggested wisdom from her past life as a teeth-Healer, Monica stood from the bed slowly and used her nightstand for support. "A bit dizzy on standing. And there's an aftertaste of something bitter."

"Feverfew," Draco answered. "Are you well enough to join us for dinner?"

Monica nodded. "Of course I am. Who else is going to keep Hermione from hexing you?"

"Fair point. Theo seems to find it a source of entertainment."

A chime rang from the dining room that Draco assumed meant dinner was served. Monica raised her eyebrows at the new means of summoning everyone to the meal.

"He's showing off for Gran-Hermione," Draco said. "They've bonded."

"I see." Monica led the way to the dining room and motioned for Draco to take his normal seat, which was now directly across from one Hermione Granger.

"If she kills me, please know that I've brewed a month's worth of that potion. Theo can bring it to you," Draco muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Monica rolled her eyes.

Draco had barely reached his chair before Granger's wand flew out of his back pocket of its own accord. "What the-"

Within five seconds, the damned thing was pointed at his nose again as Granger stood from her seat. "Give me one good reason not to summon Harry and Ron right now."

"No wands at the dinner table," Monica said with a severe look at her daughter.

"I've already given you one, but you're too stubborn to listen," Draco snapped. In a grand show that laid bare just how much their relationship had changed, he took his wand out and handed it over to Monica. "And there are no wands at the dinner table, Granger." He made eye contact with Theo, who shrugged and transfigured a spoon into a vase to hold their wands.

Granger's internal struggle was clear on her face. Draco stayed perfectly still as she finally relinquished her weapon at a glacial pace.

"Thank you," Monica said. She moved the vase to the breakfast bar as Wendell joined them.

"What's-?"

"No wands at the dinner table," Monica, Draco, and Theo chorused. Granger looked at them suspiciously and Draco figured she could probably tell this was a new rule.

"Who hexed whom?" Wendell asked with a grin.

"That's what we're trying to prevent, husband."

"How much do you know?" Granger asked faintly.

"A fair amount, but let's wait to discuss this until after dinner." Monica passed a plate of chicken to Draco, who was more interested in watching Granger squirm. If Granger had to wait until the end of the meal to get her questions answered, she would combust.

"A month's dish duty says she lasts 10 minutes," Draco said to Theo.

His roommate eyed the restless young woman. "5 minutes, and you move your potions into Blaise's room."

"Blaise?" Granger gasped with her fork frozen over an asparagus stalk. "Zabini knows where you are?"

Draco groaned at Theo's carelessness. "Stop, Granger-"

"Don't tell me what to do, Malfoy!"

"Children!"

"Mum, you can't-" Granger stopped and dropped her fork. "What happened to your headache?"

Monica nodded to Draco. "Pain potion."

_Pain potion_ , Granger mouthed as she turned to Draco. Her brows were furrowed and shoulders tensed as she tilted her head to one side. "You gave her a potion?" Draco dared not say a thing while Granger was thinking. "What modifications did you make?"

He cleared his throat and tried to hide any nervousness. "Halved the vervain, doubled the rosemary, eliminated the powdered unicorn horn entirely, and simmered for an additional 7 days to further reduce potency."

Granger calculated his changes while Draco held his breath. Hopefully she was intelligent enough with potions to know that his changes were legitimate.

"How do you feel?" she asked her mother.

"Better than I have in two months."

At that, Granger picked up her fork and began eating mechanically, her thoughts obviously elsewhere. Her parents watched their silent daughter with unmasked curiosity while Draco used the opportunity to eat as much as he could before she decided to turn on him again.

The moment the meal ended, Granger started asking a thousand questions about her parents, their move to France, and their acquaintance with the fugitive men. Monica and Wendell answered every question and in turn asked one of their own. Draco and Theo sat silent as the family Granger talked inhumanly fast for an hour.

"So Malfoy thinks he can break the Memory Charm?" Granger finally asked. She still sounded suspicious, but at least she was listening. Draco shifted in his seat as her parents nodded. "How do I know that he's not going to make it worse? Or wipe your minds entirely?"

"Honestly, Granger, if I wanted to hurt your parents, I would have done it by now," Draco growled. A warning look from Monica, a glare from Wendell, and a snort from Theo told Draco that was the wrong thing to say.

This time, Granger didn't bother with a warning. Draco saw an aria of canaries fly at his face before he realized the temperamental woman had moved. He heard the commotion as he darted down the hall to the bathroom. Monica was angry, Theo was cackling, and Wendell was admiring Granger's wandless skills. Granger, for her part, was shouting words she'd probably picked up from a Weasley.

After some time, Monica walked to where Draco stood in shadow and sighed. "You need to give her a reason to trust you."

He hit his head against the wall. He wasn't the one who couldn't keep control of his temper. He was offering to fix  _her_  mistake. He owed the sanctimonious witch nothing else.

At Monica's penetrating look, Draco clenched his fists and set his jaw. "Fine."

With a glare that would have made any sane person cower, Draco marched into the dining room until he stood toe-to-toe with his adversary. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and held the Dark Mark in front of Granger's eyes. There were a dozen scars, some long and some the crescent shape of fingernails, all leading to the jaw of the skull.

"What do you see, Granger?" She was silent, her eyes wide and expression nauseous. "Because your parents watched me try to claw the damn thing off with my own nails two months ago." He pointed to the blank expanse of wall next to the front door. "Right there, in front of  _that_  wall, until your mother brought me back."

Granger dropped into her chair with a miserable look in the brown eyes she had inherited from Monica. Her right hand unconsciously covered the hidden scar on her left arm that haunted Draco's dreams regularly since learning the Wilkinses' true identities. Her voice was barely a whisper when she finally spoke. "What do you need me to do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm a bit of a perfectionist and don't like to post things before I think they're ready. That said, I am suuuuper excited for the turn this story's about to take.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hermione**

* * *

When she said goodbye to her father at the airport terminal in Toulouse on Tuesday, Hermione promised to be back ( _be home,_  her father had said), by Saturday’s dinner. She had three days to find the books she needed, and she intended to search Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts, and St. Mungo’s. It crossed her mind to attempt a second break-in to the Department of Mysteries but determined she would likely end up lost before achieving her goal. Another thought niggled just beyond the bounds of her determination; a relentless whisper that the library of the last legitimate Black daughter might prove useful.

Hermione always shoved that thought away with as much mental strength as she could conjure and buried herself in the Muggle novels Theo had insisted she read. Narcissa Malfoy and her home were of no interest to Hermione, none whatsoever. She would much rather search the entirety of the Forbidden Forest for the Resurrection Stone and summon the Force ghost of Salazar Slytherin than lay eyes on Malfoy Manor and its homebound mistress.

The flight to Heathrow was the longest yet in Hermione’s opinion. After just a handful of days with her parents, she saw how dire her mother’s situation was becoming. Malfoy’s pain potion lasted six hours the first night but rapidly grew less effective. Hermione saw nothing of him on his days off, which Theo promised meant the scarred blond was hovering over their dining table --  _Zabini’s_  dining table -- with a variety of cauldrons containing a slew of vile-smelling potions.

It was unsettling to reconcile the dramatic, cruel boy from Hogwarts with the serious, stoic man in her parents' flat. Again and again, she found herself staring at a page in her novel, unable to comprehend a single word, as she replayed her conversations with her parents. She had known, intellectually, that Malfoy had become a different person in the war. She had known, intellectually, that he had never had much of a choice. What sixteen-year-old wouldn't be cowed by a maniac's threats against his family when said maniac was literally living in his house? Hermione knew only a little of what that fear felt like, and she had chosen to erase her parents' minds and send them to the other side of the world without their consent.

Her first night back in Grimmauld Place was met with sleeplessness and daybreak on Wednesday found Hermione ignoring her half-eaten breakfast. Her thoughts were slow and foggy as she mechanically stirred a nearly cold cup of coffee. She only came out of her daze when, across the table, Harry's pocket suddenly began to smoke.

“Blimey, forgot about that,” he mumbled as he retrieved a folded parchment from his trousers. “Kingsley decided that the Aurors need to communicate using Echoes now. Faster than owls and less conspicuous than Patronuses.” He paused as his eyes followed the smoke trails. “Er, normally.”

“Echoes?”

Harry waved the smoking note over the table as he opened it. “Echo-Echo-Grams. It’s what George is calling the Duplication Parchments now.” He squinted at the parchment and groaned. “Horribly inconvenient things. Each parchment only matches a single twin. Between McDermott, Kingsley, Ron, Ginny, and whichever partner I have for the day, I’m carrying more parchment than I did in school.”

In spite of her best friend’s complaints, Hermione was a bit miffed that she wasn’t on the list. “And you didn’t think to send me one?”

Harry pinked. “I knew you would be back soon. I didn’t want to send one over international borders, and you were in Australia when we got them anyway.”

“How did one year of Auror training turn you into such a rule-follower?” Hermione asked. She grinned as he gave a half-hearted sneer of disgust reminiscent of Sirius Black.

Harry gave up the expression after a moment and sighed. “I still break rules when necessary, but I challenge you to sit through a single lecture from the bloke that heads the Department of International Magical Cooperation and then export anything from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to another country. George has two lawsuits going for a joke wand that offended the Japanese Minister and a love potion that rendered an Ilvermorny professor temporarily impotent.” Harry gave a toothy grin. “You should read that second one if you get the chance. The petition is a work of art.”

Hermione snorted. “I can imagine.”

Another sigh escaped the Auror. Harry gave a wistful look to his breakfast plate and stood from the table as more writing appeared on the Echo. “McDermott needs me in the office. Dinner at the Burrow tonight?”

“I’ll be there,” Hermione agreed.

“Good.” He gave her a quick hug before he headed to the Floo. “I’m sorry you haven’t found your parents yet. Ron and I will try to find another angle.”

“That’s not necessary.” Hermione tried to keep her voice from squeaking as her heart raced.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It is.” He tossed emerald powder into the fireplace before Hermione could respond and spun away to the Ministry.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment as she ran over her plan again. Not telling Harry and Ron about finding her parents had been a calculated move. After Malfoy requested she search Grimmauld Place for books on Legilimency, Theo made one very valid point: telling her impulsive best friends about her parents would bring them to France. As much as she would like to bring Malfoy to trial, she understood Theo’s reasons for hiding. A trial would mean Veritaserum. Malfoy would be forced to turn in Theo, and their joint testimonies would raise questions about Hermione and her parents.

Striking a bargain with Malfoy to keep quiet about his location in exchange for his assistance felt a bit like selling half of her soul to Voldemort. She focused on the fact that her silence also protected Theo and Zabini, both of whom she had grown fond of during her last year at Hogwarts. Zabini and Daphne, alongside Neville and Hannah, spoke highly of Theodore Nott whenever his name came up in conversation, and she had yet to meet a single student who found themselves at the wrong end of his wand who didn’t speak of the remorse on his face every time he hurt them.

But the Death Eater trials were growing harsher as they dragged on. Crimes that would have justified a year’s house arrest six months ago began to garner two years in Azkaban and heavy reparations after the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Narcissa Malfoy and Gregory Goyle were lucky to have been caught near the beginning of the year. The Dark Marks on Theo and Malfoy’s arms now would mean Azkaban, regardless of their remorse.

Regardless of any self-inflicted scars.

Hermione pushed the fugitive men from her mind and prepared herself to enter the Black library. Thanks to the inherited madness of Orion Black, the patriarch had hidden the library decades earlier. Hermione was willing to wager that Sirius thought the room was a figment of his imagination by the time he reached adulthood.

It took an hour for Hermione to work through the protective spells Malfoy had described, at which point she discovered two runic wards that required she find the runes and transform them into something that wouldn’t set the house on fire. Unaltered, the runes only allowed those of Black blood to enter the room, not even permitting those who became Blacks by marriage.

Yet again, Hermione wished she could reach out to Zabini for assistance. His Ancient Runes assignments were perfect even when his mind was elsewhere.

Noon came and went before the library door came into view. Hermione put her wand away and felt the door for any magical energy, but her wandless magic detected nothing. With a stuttered breath that was half-terror and half-excitement, Hermione opened the door.

When the Order of the Phoenix moved into Grimmauld Place in her fifth year, it was a dreary, doxy-infested mausoleum. Molly Weasley could have unearthed a sarlacc pit beneath the drawing room rug and Hermione would been only mildly surprised--not because Grimmauld Place had one, but because they were real.

With that precedent in mind, Hermione was in awe of the library. Immaculate bookshelves lined three walls of the modest room from floor to ceiling. A fourth wall boasted an empty portrait over an ornate ebony desk encrusted with tiny diamonds. Hermione recognized the constellation Cepheus at the focal point of the wooden sky.

Someone in the Black family, Orion or his ancestors, clearly considered this room holy.

“Brave Muggle girl, walking into the House of Black with a straightened back as if she has nothing to fear from the books she seeks to soil with her unworthy hands,” a disembodied voice stated to the room. “How, I wonder, did such a Muggle enter this space?” Hermione heard a hint of amusement in the voice and turned the portrait to see a black-haired man with sharp blue eyes and centuries-old black dress robes standing in the frame with a familiar snake-head cane. She shared in the portrait’s amusement for a moment as she wondered if the Malfoys and Blacks were a bit more inbred than they let on, or if the cane was perhaps a gift from Mrs. Malfoy to her husband.

“Cepheus Black?” Hermione asked.

“Clever Muggle girl,” the portrait said as if she were a talking poodle rather than a fully-trained witch. “I suppose you chose my name from the tapestry?”

Hermione sniffed. “Your rather ostentatious desk gave you away, actually.”

Cepheus showed genuine approval at that. “A Muggle who knows the heavens. Might you be an illegitimate descendent of Copernicus or his contemporaries?”

“Just a Hogwarts graduate who did her own homework,” Hermione said. She raised her chin in a challenge, daring him to call her a Muggle once more.

“A Ravenclaw?”

“A Gryffindor.”

Cepheus groaned. “A Muggle Gryffindor in the heart of the Noble House of Black. However did my descendants allow such an incursion?”

“Your descendants are mostly dead and none still bear your name. The Ancient and Noble House of Black has fallen,” Hermione stated primly.

The patriarch stumbled against his cane for the swiftest of moments before he matched Hermione’s raised chin with his own haughty stare. “The Muggle lies.”

Hermione turned to begin browsing the books. “I see no Muggles here. The  _witch_  tells the truth.”

“She of Muggle birth is of Muggle blood and Muggle status, regardless of her ill-begotten magic. And she of Muggle birth is a liar. I ask again, how did you enter my sanctuary, Muggle?”

Hermione didn’t respond but continued to read the titles as Cepheus sputtered in the background.

“Girl!” he finally shouted, and Hermione turned around.

“Woman,” she responded, “but close enough.”

“Girl,” Cepheus said again as if Hermione hadn’t spoken. “How did you enter my sanctuary?”

“I altered the runes. I assume you engraved them?”

The portrait nodded with a suspicious glare. “How did you alter my runes?”

Strictly for show, Hermione examined her vinewood wand with an affected carelessness she learned from the Greengrass sisters. “I cancelled the charms protecting them with a simple  _finite incantatum_ , which, honestly, I expected more of a challenge from the Ancient and Noble House of Black.” Hermione hid a smile as Cepheus puffed his chest.

“Simple charms overlaying something so complex as runes are meant to lull foolish Gryffindors into a false sense of security. Every Slytherin knows this, though I suppose the art of subtlety is an absent talent in the lions’ den.”

“The runes themselves were challenging,” Hermione acquiesced, ignoring the slight against Gryffindor. “For the rune glamouring the door, I destroyed it entirely using a curse that engraves four parallel lines and a cold flame.”

“You would need two people for such an endeavour.”

Hermione held open her left hand, where an ice-cold flame floated above her palm. “I don’t.”

“What is your name, child?” Cepheus asked. She could tell he was trying to keep from sounding impressed and only mostly succeeding.

“Hermione Granger.”

He nodded for a moment as he spun his cane. “And how did you modify the second set of runes? You should have fallen victim to my curse before breaking through.”

Hermione smiled. “In the end, I realized I was overthinking it. I translated each of the runes literally at first, examining them as individual components of an additive equation. Only when I remembered that Blacks tend to be a bit looser with their interpretation of magic did I learn how to modify the runes.” She gave him a look of self-righteous pride. “You wrote ‘ _None but Black blood may enter this sacred place_.’ I just had to change  _none_  to  _all_.”

Cepheus’s eyes widened. “All but Black blood may enter,” he whispered. “You banned my descendants.”

“You only have four left and two of them have been disowned. Non-Black families will get more use from your library than your family will.”

“Are you quite sure you are of Muggle birth?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a shame,” Cepheus said with a thoughtful gaze.

Hermione turned back to the shelves to resume her search. “You haven’t called me Mudblood,” she said quietly.

Cepheus growled. “One should never use such language in the company of a woman, even one to whom the epithet applies.”

“That’s interesting, because it was your descendants who introduced me to the word. It was one of your descendants who gave me this.” Hermione pulled back the sleeve of her pale green blouse and showed her cursed scar to Cepheus.

The portrait pursed his lips. “How crass.”

Hermione snorted and pulled the sleeve down. “Crass isn’t the word I would use.”

“And what word would a child such as yourself use?”

“Opprobrious,” she snapped, stung by being called a child.

Cepheus eyed her carefully. “That is an old word for a young woman.”

“I read a lot of old books.”

“Tell me of my descendants,” he said without ceremony a minute later.

Hermione held up a hand. “Tell me where to find books on Legilimency and Potions, and I promise to return in five days to tell you about Andromeda, Narcissa, and Sirius Black.”

“The woman has a mission,” Cepheus said with approval. “Come back tomorrow.”

“I can’t. I have to be at Hogwarts tomorrow and St. Mungo’s the day after, and then elsewhere for two days after that.”

“Hogwarts has an impressive library.”

“Which is why I need to go.”

“Hogwarts had one book that discussed mind magicks when I attended, and it was assuredly written by a wizard who had never seen inside the mind of another. You are going to Hogwarts for books on Potions, then, and St. Mungo’s to sate whichever curiosity you are unable to fill.”

“I can see where Sirius inherited his cleverness,” Hermione said.

Cepheus gave a pleased nod. “Fine. Go to Hogwarts tomorrow, but if I might advise you against using resources at St. Mungo’s. Mind magicks as they are meant to be used are not practised nor taught in institutions under your Ministry. You should be able to find whatever you are looking for in this library.”

“And Potions?” Hermione ventured.

“There are a number of talented potioneers whose accomplishments are well-documented. I am confident you can find another library to read. The books of Hector Dagworth-Granger, for instance.”

A door slammed somewhere outside the room and Hermione heard determined footsteps pass the drawing room and the secret entrance to the library. The camaraderie between Hermione and Cepheus was abruptly broken as the man wandered out of frame without a word.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice called.

Hermione cursed. Cepheus hadn’t told her where to find the books she needed. Thoroughly frustrated, Hermione went to the desk to see if any member of the House of Black had left spare parchment in the drawers.

Her hand was hovering just above the first handle when Cepheus’s voice floated from out of view. “I would advise leaving the desk untouched.”

“Let me guess. It’s cursed,” she said with a sigh.

“That mangy old Hat should have placed you in Ravenclaw.”

“A hat cannot have mange,” Hermione said. She paused, trying to figure out why on earth that was her first thought.

“A hat also cannot sing, talk, or view one’s thoughts and divine one’s future, yet you witnessed seven Sortings to the contrary.”

“I refuse to acquiesce to your point.”

“Ah, and there resides the lioness. A stubborn pride, the lot of you.”

“Hermione?” Ginny called again, her voice closer.

“Do remember, Miss Granger,” Cepheus’s fading voice said, “that it is the lioness who hunts.”

"Hermione, what's going on? Since when does Harry have a library?" Ginny stepped into the room, oblivious to the hours of work Hermione spent making sure the library was even accessible.

“I found it,” she said simply, frowning at the space Cepheus left empty. She wasn’t completely sure, but Hermione had the vague sense that she’d made a friend. Or, at least, an amiable acquaintance.

“You found it?” Ginny sounded dubious, and rightfully so. Dozens of people had travelled the halls of Grimmauld Place over the last four years and the library remained hidden. It was likely that Mad-Eye Moody had seen the room, but with all the wards intact, it posed no threat.

"Percy made an offhand comment a few months back that the Blacks were natural Legilimens. I thought they might have some books on it. After Harry went to work, I began looking around and noticed protective spells in this area, so I unravelled them and found this."

Ginny folded her arms and frowned. "First, why the hell would you unravel protective spells, of all things, in a Black house? Second, if they were naturals, the books would be about advanced techniques, and if I remember correctly, you couldn't even find where to start."

"Well, maybe they'll give me an idea. Like reverse engineering." Hermione ignored Ginny’s first point because she had no decent defence that didn’t incriminate Malfoy.

"You're lying. Why are you lying?"

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

Books started drifting off the shelves and forming a tornado around Hermione. She looked over to see Ginny's wand directing the storm. "Stop it!" Hermione screeched. “They might be fragile!”

"Quit lying to me."

“Ginny,” Hermione whimpered as one old tome lost a page. “Stop!”

“Hermione.”

"I found my parents and their walls are breaking down," she confessed in a single breath as she watched another helpless book nearly lose its cover.

Ginny directed the books into a neat pile and tucked her wand away. "Do they remember you?"

"Yes and no. They know who I am and sometimes my mother gets glimpses of our history, but that's it."

"Do they know you're a witch?"

"Yes."

"Was there any sort of fallout? Are they going to let you experiment on their brains?"

Hermione hesitated. "There was minimal fallout. Dad’s not pleased that I’m the one who did the charm, and Mum’s having these headaches that take up most of her energy. I’m sure she’ll be upset once she’s healed. But I -- I found a Legilimens in France who's going to lift the charm."

"You trust him to keep quiet?"

"Let's say the arrangement is mutually beneficial."

"What aren't you telling me?" Hermione stayed silent and Ginny took out her wand again. "We have three options, Granger. One, you tell me the whole truth. Two, I’ll hex it out of you. Three, I go to France and see what's going on for myself."

Hermione felt a wave of nausea roll through her stomach. "Not here," she said quietly with a glance at the empty portrait.

Now Ginny looked intrigued. "Why not?"

"Just...not here. Let's grab a coffee."

"Coffee? Hermione, what's going on?"

Hermione dragged the confused and protesting woman outside and Disapparated to an alley around the corner from a café.

"Let go of me,” Ginny demanded, wrenching away from Hermione and checking for her wand. “Where are we?"

"Somewhere we can talk."

"You're freaking me out."

"Let's go inside. Never know if someone's listening."

"And now you're freakishly paranoid. What the bloody hell is going on?"

Hermione didn't answer until they were seated at a table with two coffees in hand, and the din covered their conversation. "Before I tell you, you have to make a promise. A vow."

"No."

"Ginny, please."

"No. Tell me first, and then I'll make the vow. I want to know what I'm getting in to."

"Do you promise to make the vow after I tell you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. You cannot tell Harry, Ron, any Aurors, any friends, any acquaintances, any enemies, any house-elves--"

"I get the picture. Keep my mouth shut. Move on."

"I found Malfoy."

"WHAT?" Ginny screeched. "Hermione, you have to tell--"

"No!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I need him to remove the Memory Charm. He's the Legilimens."

"And you trust him to help you? Why?"

"Because he's been working at a Muggle bakery for four months."

"Malfoy? Working? At a Muggle bakery? Are you sure someone didn't cast a Memory Charm on  _him_? Maybe a Confundus? Or Imperius?"

"Quite sure." Hermione stared down at her coffee as if looking at the caffeine would give her a boost. "He's different, but he's definitely still Malfoy."

Ginny didn't seem convinced. "So how did he agree to help you with your parents? Why would you even let him  _near_  your parents?"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. "They own the bakery."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "WHAT?" she shrieked. A café patron glared at them over a crisp copy of the  _Daily Telegraph_.

"Malfoy's been ... friends--" Hermione choked on the word, "--with my parents for months."

"Hermione, it has to be a trap. He's up to something."

"I don't think he is." Hermione shook her head and sighed. "He's been helping my mum with her headaches and he and my dad don't get along, but that's to be expected, I think, since apparently he told them about -- they know about the war and Malfoy Manor and my dad told him to leave and my mum asked him to stay and now he wants to help with the Memory Charm because its making my mum sick and he seems genuinely fond of her, which is odd but--"

"Hermione, breathe," Ginny commanded. "So you're going to let  _Malfoy_  use magic on your mother." Hermione nodded. "Fine. Okay. But I'm coming with you to France. You might think he's not going to hurt them, but I don't trust that man."

"I don't need your protection."

Ginny stared her down with a look that said Hermione could either agree or risk being hexed. "It's non-negotiable. I'm coming with you, end of story."

Hermione sighed again, internally lamenting that there wasn't enough coffee in the world to deal with this situation. "In that case, there's one more thing you should know." Ginny eyed her warily but didn't interrupt. "Theodore Nott is there too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's DECEMBER, guys, which was absolutely unintentional. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who's reviewed over the last four (!) months. I love writing this story as much as you love reading it. This chapter was fighting me and refusing to come together, plus there's a plot bunny involving our favorite messy-haired Auror that just sort of took off, so I've been working on that as well. Additionally, a handful of you may know that I'm working on an original fiction series, so I'm really, really, really hoping to have good news on that front sometime soon, but the finish line for that story feels like a mirage right now.
> 
> Thank you all again! Please leave some love in the reviews if you're so inclined. I'm hoping Draco's next chapter is much more obedient than this one. Poor bloke's about to have his safe space invaded by a Weasley....


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for an anxiety attack in the second part of the chapter.

 

**Draco**

* * *

A horrifically unpleasant surprise awaited Draco on Saturday afternoon. He had prepared himself to see Granger again. He had prepared himself for the possibility that she hadn't been able to access the Black library. He had even prepared himself to let any and every snide comment made by Wendell float right on by.

He was not prepared to face a Harpy.

"Ferret," the she-Weasley greeted Draco when he walked into the Wilkinses' flat.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Draco demanded, whipping out his wand.

"Ginny's made a conditional vow," Granger sniffed as she sorted through a pile of books on the dining table.

The Weasley hopped onto the breakfast bar and sat with her legs swinging. She looked much too comfortable for someone being held at wandpoint by a Malfoy. "If you so much as look at Hermione or her parents funny, I get to tell Harry and Ron that you threatened to kill them if she turned you in."

Draco spun back to Granger, offended and outraged. "You know I wouldn't do that!"

Granger shrugged, but her attempt at nonchalance failed spectacularly. She didn't have near as much confidence as her counterpart. "Then you don't have anything to worry about," she said, but the waver in her voice betrayed some sort of nervousness. By contrast, her hands were steady as she gestured to the books on the table. "Legilimency and potions."

"Granger, get your friend out of here."

"No," Weasley said before Granger could respond. "I'm her back up."

Draco involuntarily snorted, glancing at the moose wallpaper in the kitchen. "Granger can take care of herself."

Both women paused and Draco suddenly felt the weight of two stares. Granger's mouth was open and eyes wide in unguarded surprise, while Weasley frowned like she suspected a trick. "What?" he snapped, starting to drop his wand.

Weasley's eyes drifted down at the movement. She jumped down from the bar, fluidly brandishing her own wand at Draco. His arm flew back up and he grimaced when he saw Granger instinctively raise one hand, a faint thread of magic weaving through her fingers.

"Where did you get that wand?" Weasley growled.

Too late, Draco realized the wand he'd been pointing at her face was the very same wand he had stolen from her dead brother at the Battle of Hogwarts. "I can explain--"

"That wand is Fred's." Weasley stepped closer toward Draco and he was strongly reminded of his altercation with Granger just the week prior. He missed the days when the biggest threat to his well being was Theo's sense of humour.

"Well, he doesn't need it anymore, does he?" Draco sneered without thinking. He ducked as Weasley sent a hex, only to lose his grip on the wand. It flew in an arc alongside Weasley's wand until they both landed in Granger's palm.

"I need Malfoy in one piece until he can fix my parents," Granger said diplomatically to her fuming friend.

"You didn't have that attitude last weekend," Draco grumbled.

Granger turned cool eyes on him. "I didn't believe you then. I do now." She handed him a leather book that hadn't been cared for in at least two centuries. "You should probably use this time to explain why you have Fred's wand before I let Ginny have her wand back."

Draco ignored Granger's suggestion and opened the book. "It's blank."

He heard her huff impatiently. "Bottom right corner," she answered.

Draco squinted at the bottom of a random page and saw the faint shadow of a rune. He suspected he would have to trace a rune on each page to read the book, which also meant the book probably didn't have a table of contents. He'd have to read every bloody page.

He also wasn't fond of the idea of drawing runes without translating them first, and these were so far unfamiliar. Without looking at Granger, he held out an open palm. When she didn't return his wand, he glared at the bemused witch. "Do you want my help or not?"

"My mother gave me the impression you had manners."

Draco growled. "Don't bring your mother into this, Granger. Give me my wand."

The dining table shook and Draco looked over to see Weasley looking murderous. Apparently Granger had employed a silencing spell on the Harpy at some point. If he weren't adamantly opposed to appreciating anything Granger did, he would admire her pragmatism. Few people would choose a useful enemy over an earnest friend.

He smirked at the voiceless Weasley and reworded his demand. "Give me the elder Weasley's wand," he said without breaking eye contact.

A close-range Stinging Hex hit him in the side and he yelped. Granger held out Fred Weasley's wand. "Say please."

"You - that hurt!"

"You're being cruel to Ginny. She hasn't done anything to you."

"Other than threatening the life I've built here?" he snarled. "You just put my life in her hands, which was not our agreement. You're lucky I'm even still willing to help you, which would be easier if I had my wand." He tried to grab the wand from Granger but she didn't relent.

"Say please, Malfoy."

"Give me--"

Granger sighed and tucked the wand up the right sleeve of her oversized jumper. "What book do you need?" she asked, standing from the table. "Is it here or at--" she caught herself just shy of saying 'Zabini's', if her look at Weasley was anything to go by, "--home?"

"If you give me my wand, I can get the book myself, Granger."

"I'm not giving you your wand back. Where's the book?"

Draco snarled something that earned him another Stinging Hex when Wendell came upstairs. The Muggle laughed outright as Draco swore so violently that even Weasley looked amused.

"How's the research going?" Wendell asked, yet again sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. Really, Granger's parents explained so much about her.

The vinewood wand remained pointed at Draco; specifically, at his swelling torso. "Malfoy was telling me where to find the book of runes he needs to translate one of the books from Cepheus's library," Granger said innocently.

Draco's watering eyes flew wide open. "Cepheus-?"

"Probably in those books he keeps in your room," Wendell said, too helpfully.

"He keeps books in my - but books about -  _here_?" Granger looked helplessly between Draco and her father. "I haven't seen any magical books in my room."

"Oh, but Granger," Draco drawled, "aren't  _all_  books magical?"

Granger, Wendell, and Weasley exchanged a look before father and daughter headed down the hall.

"You bastard," Weasley snarled, having her voice back to Draco's extreme dismay. At least she didn't have a wand and wasn't bookish enough to learn wandless magic.

"Look, Weasley, I didn't realize whose wand it was at first," Draco said, flipping through a book of rather suspicious-looking potions. Eye contact with an angry Weasley was to avoided at all costs.

"Is that supposed to make it better?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from the last word.

"Yes," he answered with the conviction of an accomplished liar. "If I'd known who it belonged to, I probably would have left it."

"You're lying."

He glared at her, peeved that she presumed - correctly - that he valued his life over his prejudices. "It doesn't matter. The wand was lying in the rubble and I had no way to protect myself. I took it." He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "Shot off red and gold sparks when your brother won those Orders of Merlin."

Weasley's eyes remained hard, but she seemed calmer. He wondered if that made it more or less likely that she would hex him when his back was turned.

Who was he kidding? She was a Gryffindor. They only hexed people when they could see the fear in their eyes.

"You're more at risk of Granger hurting me, you know," he said after a minute, uncomfortable with her silent stare. "She nearly killed me last Saturday."

"I'm sure you deserved it."

"I told her I wanted to help with the Memory Charm."

Weasley hummed. "That's not the conversation I heard. I did hear that she dropped you down the stairs. Bring back any fond memories, ferret?"

Draco snarled. "Don't -"

"I know, I know," Weasley said with an exasperated wave. "Two broken ribs and a hairline fracture, though I still think your bruised ego was probably the worst of it. Already heard this lecture. Daphne," she explained at his frown. "Gave us a proper tongue-lashing a few months back. Hermione looked like she'd kicked a puppy. Starting quoting some Muggle poet about sins and fathers."

Before Draco could process Weasley's words, the door of Granger's room slammed open. "You LIAR!" Granger roared, storming back down the hall. Weasley leaned back against the bar, a smug grin on her face as Granger threw a folded parchment at him. "It was always you! The extra homework and essays Zabini gave me - they were yours!"

Draco unfolded the parchment to see one of his perfect Ancient Runes assignments with Granger's neat hand in the margins. "I take it you found the book."

She shoved the text at him, and Draco returned to the blank book on the table. "May I have my wand now?"

He heard a mutter of, "Unbelievable," before the wand was slammed down on the table. Granger stormed off, followed by her dutiful father, presumably to let off some of her self-righteous anger, again leaving Draco alone with Weasley.

"Zabini, hmm?" Weasley asked with a raised eyebrow. Draco groaned. It wasn't any wonder Granger and Theo got on so well; they both had the subtlety of an erumpent in heat. "Makes sense. I always thought it was strange that he'd write two versions of his assignments. No one that pretty has to try that hard."

"Why is Granger ranting about homework to the cookware?" Theo asked from the door. He stopped at the sight of the redhead in the dining room. "Weasley. You're awfully … present. Take a wrong turn heading to the Quidditch pitch?" The quip hid genuine nervousness, which Weasley clearly sensed. There was something off-putting about her preternatural ability to sense the truth.

"How d'you know I'm playing Quidditch?"

Theo shrugged and moved gingerly into the kitchen, well-prepared to duck behind the counter if necessary. " _Daily Prophet_." He gave the door an apprehensive look. "Should we be expecting any additional guests?"

Wickedness gleamed in Weasley's eyes. "Well, I  _am_  dating an Auror with access to international Portkeys. I could ask if he's free tonight. He'd love to see Hermione's parents again."

Theo paled and turned to Draco. "Blaise is going to kill you."

Weasley started laughing. "I'm not turning you in. Hermione literally made me take a vow."

"A conditional vow," Draco said.

Weasley smirked. "Those conditions are Malfoy-specific."

Theo looked puzzled but chose not to question his good fortune. "Who's making dinner?" he asked instead.

"I think it's Weasley's turn," Draco answered.

"Watch it, ferret. I might be tempted to poison you."

Theo relaxed against the counter, clearly sensing an ally in their unwelcome guest. "Fresh out of hemlock, I'm afraid, but I think Draco's got a potion that's gone rancid back at the house. I could fetch it."

Draco groaned. "Don't encourage-"

"How rancid?" Weasley asked.

"Imagine your brothers' pants had been doused in thestral piss, lit on fire, and the ashes packed into your pillow."

Weasley's nose wrinkled. "That's … vivid."

"That's how I feel looking at this potion," Theo said with a dramatic grimace. Draco fought the urge to hit his head on the table.

"It's a pain-" he started again, but neither party were much interested in listening to him, instead bonding over their horrible personalities. Draco had a sneaking suspicion that a Theo/Weasley friendship didn't bode well for him.

* * *

"What are you looking at?" Granger demanded for the third time Sunday evening. Theo was keeping Weasley and the Wilkinses entertained while Draco and Granger poured over the books in the dining room. Draco would have greatly preferred to read in the comfort of Zabini's library, but Granger didn't trust him with the books and he didn't trust her with the location of his home.

Draco did not, however, mind that he had found a new way to get under Granger's skin. The runes in the book from the Black library - Cepheus Black's library, apparently, which was a new headache altogether - were all specific to mind magicks, which made sense enough. They bonded Legilimency to the physical world, which meant that the reader had to trace the runes on himself to see the words on each page. The book was broken into nonsensical sections, so every sixth page for the first two hundred pages might be visible with the rune for Knowing the Inner Mind, but each page in between might need Draco to draw First Thought Upon Daybreak or Sleeping Among Enemies or, in a single odd instance, the basic rune for Book.

The only thing that made the resulting headache worth his trouble was the fact Granger couldn't see the pages. To her, it appeared Draco was reading a blank book and it was driving her mad. She stated twice that he was only pretending to help, which he ignored once and condemned with a glare the second time.

"Are you even-"

"Granger, if you don't let me read in peace, I'm going to set the bloody book on fire." He winced as he looked at his arm and saw his current rune - also invisible to Granger - disappear. Apparently the book was capable of taking offense. Wonderful.

"But you aren't reading anything!"

" _Now_  I'm not," he snapped, drawing his wand again. He ignored Granger's flinch and dragged the tip along his arm, re-tracing Unhindered Thoughts. "Which is very much your own fault." The words bled out across the page again and he pointedly turned his nose back to the book.

"There's nothing-"

"What seems to be the problem?" Monica asked from the sofa. The rest of the conversation had ceased; their bickering had gained an audience.

Draco waited with half-hidden amusement to see what sort of temper Granger threw. Either she would fold her arms and pretend he didn't exist anymore or she would loudly paint him a villain.

Quite the diabolical villain to be pretending to read, he mused as he watched her wrestle with her instincts.

"Nothing," Granger finally said, and stormed out of the room. Weasley gave Draco a dirty look and ran after her friend.

Monica sighed and raised her eyebrows at Draco. "Care to explain?"

"She's finally found something she doesn't understand," Draco said with a shrug. He tapped the page he could see. "But I think I've found something."

Monica's eyes widened. "Already?"

"What are the risks?" Wendell asked, placing a hand over his wife's. Draco was sharply reminded of his parents and pushed the memory of them behind a wall in his mind that had grown into something of a maze in the last year.

"Safer than what we've done so far," Draco answered. "The idea is that instead of trying to deconstruct the barrier around your memories, I move them out from behind it."

"How long will that take?" Monica asked while her husband demanded, "And how will that help her headaches? If the charm is still technically in place-"

Draco cut off Wendell. "I believe the headaches are caused by the memories just beyond the edge of the charm. If I can move those first, it should lessen the headaches." That was just a theory, of course, since he hadn't yet found anything useful on failing Memory Charms in his many-times great-grandfather's library.

"When do you want to try?" Monica looked more wary than hopeful, but there was desperation hidden in her eyes.

"Whenever you're ready," Draco said with far more confidence than he actually had. The process was be tricky, and he would die in a hail of fireballs if he caused Granger's mother any more pain, but theoretical preparation only helped so much. He needed to get into Monica's mind to understand how the spell worked.

"Now," Monica said, and stood from the sofa.

Draco, Theo, and Wendell followed her to the bedroom she shared with her husband. Theo stood guard outside the door, watching for Granger and Weasley to return. Wendell hovered uncomfortably behind Draco while Monica settled on the edge of the bed and Draco on his knees in front of her, the same way they sat the first time he entered her mind.

" _Legilimens_."

Immediately, he felt a sense of dread as he looked at the white fog around Monica's memories. Where it had been a thinning wall just two months ago, it was reduced to latticework in some spots with memories not only dancing near the edge, but drifting through and pulling back. A weaker woman would have gone insane by this point, Draco was sure.

He cringed as he examined the charm. The first step wouldn't be moving a memory or two from behind the barrier, not with as weak as it was becoming. He spun his wand and, as quietly as he could manage, whispered, " _Obliviate._ "

Pale blue fog began to fill the holes in Granger's Memory Charm. As the charm fortified itself, the trapped memories faded from view until the fog solidified into a patchwork Occlumency-type wall. The charm wouldn't hold forever, he knew that much, but it didn't have to.

He traced the wall, looking for any weak points left by his spell. After several minutes, he was satisfied with the strength of the reinforced charm and finally started the moving process.

The incantation was less exhausting than the focus it took to perform it. Draco painstakingly carved a door into the Memory Charm, down to the detail of creating a knob to open and close it. His breath came in pants by the time he finished the door and he felt his strength waning.

Distantly, he felt Wendell's presence drift back. A hand grasped his right shoulder, and it took all of his training to hold steady in Monica's mind. The hand moved down to cover his wand hand while a second hand rested flat on his back, perfectly behind his heart.

A strength that didn't belong to Draco washed over him. With his first full breath in minutes, Draco pushed through the door and identified the nearest memory.

The ropes he spun to capture the two-storey blue-trimmed house were the familiar blue of his own magic and the white of Granger's. When the memory was adequately secured, he eased it forward, forward, forward until it compressed and squeezed through the door. The house grew to life-size the moment it was fully outside the Memory Charm.

It worked.

Careful not to be overjoyed too quickly, he secured the door in the wall and released the memory from the two-tone ropes. The house moved on its own as Monica's mind filed her London home where it belonged in her thoughts.

With a sigh of relief, Draco pulled out of Monica's mind and sagged against Granger, whose hand was still on his back. The room was entirely silent while he caught his breath.

"Home?" Monica asked him.

Draco knelt forward, away from Granger. "Tell me about it." He felt Granger move back and she settled into his peripheral, her shoulders stiff with anxiety.

Monica frowned and moved her eyes to Wendell. "It's - it was two storeys. Grey stone, blue eaves. I - I walked in every night after work and hung my coat next to the door." She paused as if waiting for the next scene to appear. "We had a cat. Orange. I can't remember his name. He wasn't home often because he belonged to my-." Monica stopped and closed her eyes. "He belonged to my -" Her nose and cheeks grew pink as she looked at Draco. "Why can't I remember who he belonged to?"

Draco's heart stopped as he heard Granger's gasp. "What did you do?" she whimpered next to his ear.

"Weasley," Draco called, hoping the woman was smart enough to calm Granger down before she lost control. He focused on Monica, trying to ignore Granger's panicked breathing. One crisis at a time.

He set his wand on the bed next to Monica and grasped her hands. "The cat is Hermione's. She took him to Hogwarts during the school year." When she still looked confused, Draco swallowed his own panic. "Monica, do you remember Hermione?"

She nodded, but there was something like a lie in her hesitation. "She's - she's Hermione," Monica said, and Draco followed her gaze to where Granger now stood wrapped in Weasley's arms. Wendell looked torn between which of his women to help while Theo stood awkwardly in a corner.

"That's right," Draco said, giving Granger the smallest of nods before he turned back to her mother. "That's Hermione. Do you remember how Hermione is related to you?" He watched as Monica pulled one hand from his and curved it over her face to hide her shame. Draco tightened his grip on the hand he still held. "Monica. Monica, it's okay. Look at me. Look at me," he whispered. He pulled her hand away just enough that he could make eye contact with her. "Can you tell me who I am?"

"Draco."

A sad smile tipped his lips. "Good. Can you tell me who everyone else is?"

Monica dropped her hand and looked around the crowded room. "Wendell is my husband. Theo is your brother. Ginny is Hermione's friend."

Draco's panic subsided as a new wave of relief hit. If she could place everyone except Granger, it meant that shoring up the original Memory Charm did what it was supposed to, albeit a little too well. "I think it's time to sleep now." He pulled a phial from the nightstand next to the bed and spun it until the deep purple liquid inside swirled into a pale lavender. "Do you remember what this is?"

Monica actually gave a small laugh and held her hand out. "Dreamless Sleep for Muggles."

A broad smile broke across Draco's face as he uncorked the phial and handed it over. "Brilliant."

"Thank you, Draco."

"Goodnight, Monica," he said sternly and watched as she drank the potion.

As soon as Monica was asleep, Draco stood from the floor, wincing at the soreness in his knees. He gestured for Wendell to follow him as he went into the bathroom to rinse the phial.

"Is she-"

"I don't know," Draco said, grimacing at the bitter taste of admitting uncertainty to the Muggle. "The original charm was too unstable to work with, so I had to fix that first. I was able to move one memory back to where it belongs, but I think she might not remember Granger is her daughter until I can remove the charm."

"What about her headaches?" Wendell asked, his voice slightly strangled.

"They should be manageable with the Memory Charm stabilised. I'll keep working on a pain potion, though, because I can't imagine we've seen the last of them. For either of you." Draco attached the rinsed phial to the counter with a Sticking Charm and conjured a tiny tornado to air-dry it. By the time the phial was dry, he was alone.

Granger sat curled in an armchair, looking more wilted than she had after dropping Draco down the stairs. Weasley hovered near her friend, looking surprisingly deflated as well. Theo was in the dining room, flipping mindlessly through the stack of Black books.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Weasley asked, breaking the heavy silence first. Draco opened his mouth, only to realise he had no idea what to say. After a moment, he grimaced and nodded. Weasley sighed and went back to watching the nearly catatonic Granger. "I don't think we -  _I_  - realised how…." She trailed off, just as lost as everyone else.

Another minute of silence dragged on too long and Draco cleared his throat. "I'd like to take some of the books home tonight." When Granger didn't respond, Draco took her silence as permission. He gathered a few books and pointed to two for Theo to take as well. They were nearly out the door before a strong voice rose from the armchair.

"You really care about her."

Draco fought the instinct to be snappish and almost won. "What's it to you?"

Granger peeked over the back of the chair, her red-rimmed dark eyes,  _her mother's eyes_ , meeting his. "Just … maybe you have a heart after all."

With that unsettling statement hanging in the air, Draco looked away from the woman and let Theo lead him from the building.

* * *

Hours later, Draco woke to the sound of pounding on his bedroom door. Panic raced through his veins and he threw a dressing robe over his silk pyjamas as he raced to the door.

"Something's wrong with Monica," Theo said breathlessly, his hand still hovering in the air as if he were going to knock again.

"How-"

"Just go, Draco."

The journey took maybe sixty seconds or maybe sixty years, but the dread in Draco's muscles had grown exponentially heavier by the time he ran into the Wilkinses' flat. "Where is she?" he asked Wendell, who was hovering by the door.

"Bedroom."

As they passed through the hall, Draco saw Weasley standing guard outside of Granger's bedroom. She held a finger to her lips and jutted her chin at Granger's door. She must have still been sleeping, then.

In the light of her bedroom lamp, Monica sat curled against the headboard, gasping and choking between sobs. Draco snapped his fingers at Weasley, beckoning her into the room. "Calming Draught, bathroom cabinet, third shelf." When Weasley disappeared, Draco looked at Wendell. "What happened?"

The Muggle rocked from foot to foot, his eyes firmly on the carpet. "She woke up and I asked her how she felt and she started crying."

Weasley entered the room with the Calming Draught and frowned at Wendell. "Theo and I heard you two talking before this all started."

Draco raised an eyebrow. So that's how Theo knew something was wrong. He put that knowledge aside to investigate later and administered the draught to Monica. "What exactly did you say?" No one answered in the minutes it took for Monica to stop crying. When she no longer shuddered through each breath, Draco asked again. "What exactly did Wendell say?"

"Hermione," both Wilkinses answered, one in defeat and the other in despair.

Draco counted to ten and set his wand on the floor. One day his patience would run out and he'd hex Wendell. "What about Hermione?" He kept his back turned to Wendell, directing the question explicitly to Monica.

Monica's fingers twisted in the duvet but she seemed otherwise stable. "I know her." She bit the inside of her lip as her hands tightened on the blanket. "But I'm supposed to  _know_ her." The words seemed to be fighting against Monica as she spoke. "I think I'm supposed to know her but I can't - but I  _don't_. She's  _supposed_  to be someone but she's not. I feel - I can't figure out if she's someone I love or if she's someone I'm  _supposed_  to love. It's like she's real and imaginary and there's what I know about her but there's more I'm supposed to know and more that I think I  _did_  know and something I know intellectually that I can't truly grasp-" Monica cut off in the middle of her sentence, her eyes bright and red-rimmed. "Draco, what's happening?"

"You're okay," he said thickly.  _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry_ , he kept to himself. "I'll figure it out. I'll-" He stood up. "Wendell, distract her with something while I figure this out." He swept from the room, his dressing robe billowing in his wake. Weasley followed him into living room, where Theo was waiting on the sofa with a full tea service prepared on the coffee table.

"Is she okay?"

Draco glared at his best friend. "Do you really think she would have been in that condition if she were okay?" he snapped.

"So that'll be three lumps then?" Theo asked, and dropped three sugars into a steaming cup before passing it over. When Draco made to refuse, Theo shook his head. "Drink it on your own or I'll Imperius you."

The teacup froze halfway to Draco's mouth and he stared in horror at the other two. "That would work."

Theo paused mid-pour. "While I want to make a joke about tea solving everything, I am terrified to know what you could possibly be thinking right now."

"I can't do it," Draco said, feeling his conscience splitting into two. The last time he'd felt this type of panic rising, he'd collapsed. Last time, Monica had been the one to save him from himself, and she couldn't this time. "I can't, I can't, I can't-"

"Can't do what?" Weasley asked, her voice quieter than expected.

The teacup wasn't in his hand anymore. He wasn't entirely sure where the teacup was, or where anything was if he were being honest.

"Should I get another Calming Draught?" Weasley's disembodied voice asked, though Draco supposed she was asking Theo since she was too far away to be asking him. Draco almost told her not to get one - they were Muggle-strength and wouldn't help. An echo of pain in his arm stopped him and he looked down, distantly surprised to see his nails digging into his Dark Mark.

Bitter amusement rose in his chest as he remembered what the Mark had looked like surrounded by blood, and he scoffed without conviction as if to say,  _Oh,_ this  _again_.

"Draco?" Theo's voice this time, still disembodied but somewhat closer. Or maybe Draco was a bit closer. That could certainly be it. Perhaps Draco was the one travelling, drifting. That seemed likely since the teacup was gone, too.

"I'm here," he said, moving one foot along the floor to make sure he was, in fact, there or whereabouts. He was at least  _somewhere_ , wherever that may be in relation to Theo and Weasley. He watched as two hands appeared and pried his nails away from his Mark. "No!" he yelped, and pulled his arms closer to himself. "I can't - not again, I can't."

"Can't  _what_ , Draco?" Weasley asked.

Weasley? Since when did Weasley call him Draco? Did he even know her first name? She wasn't quite as interchangeable as the male Weasleys, so he had to know it somewhere.

"Ginevra," he said, vacantly proud of the fact he could recall what 'Ginny' was short for when he wasn't even sure she and Theo currently had physical forms.

"I'm going to let you have that for now only because you're paler than Fred," Weasley's - Ginevra's - voice stated. "What can't you do, Draco?"

"Imperius," he whispered. In the ensuing silence, he felt himself settle back into the world. When he was finally able to see Theo and Ginevra's stunned faces, he nodded. "Her mind doesn't know what to make of Granger," he explained. "She  _knows_  how she's supposed to feel but either doesn't feel it or  _does_  and can't make sense of why because she doesn't have the associated memories."

"So she's going mad," Theo said.

"And the Memory Charm itself is too complicated. To even make it safe to work with, I had to shore up the original charm, so now my magic is mixed into it, not just Granger's."

"And somehow an Unforgivable Curse can help with that?" Ginevra asked.

"As long as she doesn't fight it, I can convince her of whatever she needs to believe about Granger until the Memory Charm can be removed." Bile built in Draco's throat as he thought of putting yet another middle-aged woman under the curse, and holding her there indefinitely. "I don't want to do it."

A teacup clinked against a saucer and Draco remembered that his was missing. He discovered it on the nearest edge of the coffee table, sans saucer or coaster, probably leaving a water stain. He reheated it just as Ginevra spoke. "Are there any other options?" The resounding silence gave them all the answer Draco dreaded.

Wendell and Monica were still awake by the time the tea was finished. Theo beckoned for Wendell to join him and Ginevra in the hall while Draco knelt once again next to Monica.

With his wand spinning nervously in one hand, Draco spoke rapidly, earnestly, without giving Monica any chance to contradict him. "Hermione Wilkins is your niece. She's come to help us with the bakery for the summer, and she's helping me with your memory. You're fond of your niece, but you rarely see her." Before Monica could protest, he ran through the story again, and then a third time before lifting his wand to her temple.

" _Imperio_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you again for the lovely comments. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I'm mentally exhausted as I post this, so if you see any formatting issues, please let me know. All my best, akorah


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